


all of our lives (flash before my eyes)

by geralehane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Clexa, F/F, Lexa wakes up in a modern au with her memories intact, Reincarnation AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(previously "tried with all that i have (to keep you alive)"</p><p>Lexa kom Trikru wakes up in modern New York as Lexa Woods and learns to navigate through her new life. Everything becomes complicated when she meets Clarke Griffin for a second time in her life - or is it 'lives'?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lexa wakes with a start and a sharp cry, clutching at her chest. It's dark, wherever she is; there are soft sheets underneath her and an equally soft blanket wrapped around her midriff. She feels around, cautiously; the bed is spacious and lonely and very, very confusing. Last thing she remembers, she was slashing through a mob, not changing into what appears to be sleeping attire and taking a nap.

 

 _Clarke_ , she thinks, and springs to her feet. They are bare, she finds; and the floor is wooden and warm to her touch. Clarke. She remembers the desperate grasp of her hand and blue eyes filled with tears that won't fall. Remembers smiling at her one last time before turning away and charging at the crowd. Remembers hearing the loud click of the hatch with a white raven on it. Remembers herself fading along with the crowd, their faces bewildered and angry; remembers smiling because she realized Clarke succeeded. She remembers closing her eyes, then, finally, knowing she won't open them again, and welcoming peace.

 

Apparently, that's the part she was wrong about.

 

She squints and looks around, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. The room is quite big, roughly the same size of her room in Polis, but that's where the resemblances end. The bed doesn't have any of the intricate design that her bed had; in fact, it's quite simple, with a dark wooden headboard and dark blue and grey bedding. There are small tables on each side of it, and one has books stacked upon it, a pair of glasses thrown carelessly next to them. This room, much like her Polis one, has a couch and a soft chair, too, standing several feet away from the bed and facing it sideways. They are simple yet elegant, and upon closer inspection, made of leather. More books and papers are scattered on the table between them, and there is also a leather jacket thrown over the chair. Bookshelves cover the entirety of the wall on the right side of the bed, and Lexa feels herself smile involuntary. Whoever this room belongs to shares her affinity for reading. She wonders if they have books she's read before, but, as she takes a small, curious step, sudden pain pierces through her brain. It feels like her mind is falling apart, pieces clashing together sharply, pounding at her temples. She falls to her knees, screaming; no matter how hard she clutches at her head, the pain doesn't go away.

 

Her head is filled with images of her younger self playing in the mud and wearing strange clothes and surrounded by tall buildings and meeting new people. There's Costia smiling at her and looking different yet achingly familiar as she shakes her hand and gasps in her mouth and writhes under her and cries as she says goodbye; there's Anya rolling her eyes and pushing her into lake while fully clothed and handing her folders and silently holding her at a funeral, and a tombstone has her mother's face; there's Gustus nodding at her stoically and hiding his smile in his beard that looks trimmed and doesn't have braids, there's Indra disagreeing with her and struggling not to raise her voice as Lexa climbs into a car and turns the key, there's Lincoln helping her up from the floor of a boxing ring, his palm as warm and gentle as his gaze.

 

There is no Clarke.

 

Just as suddenly as it began, it stops, and Lexa is left lying on the floor, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. Still holding her head, she staggers as she gets back on her feet; her legs feel like jello, and she practically crawls back to bed, sighing with relief when she plops onto her back.

 

She's Leksa Kom Trikru, Commander of Twelve Clans. She's Lexa Woods, CEO of Trigeda Publishing Enterprise. Her spirit traveled through time and space, and this is the life she has now. With Anya, and Gustus, and Indra, and Lincoln. This is her bed she's lying in, and this is her room, and these are her books, and this is her city. From City of Light to City of Apples, Lexa chuckles to herself as she remembers growing up in New York, feeding ducks in Central Park and twisting an ankle while ice skating. New York, full of color and life, just like Polis once was, even at the brink of war – or is it just like Polis  _will_  be?

 

She's alive, and she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

 

(She doesn't have any memories of Clarke Griffin, the one that isn't Wanheda, the one that isn't Clarke Kom Skaikru, much like she isn't Leksa Kom Trikru; and she blinks away a tear as she looks through mental images of her life as Lexa Woods.)

 

//

 

“You're being weirder than usual.” Anya of this world doesn't differ much from Anya she's known as her General. She doesn't crouch and she doesn't scout her surroundings constantly, and she's wearing soft gray pants and a matching jacket and heels instead of rugged black material and long coat and boots, and she has a phone in her hand, not a sword; but she's brash and unapologetic and has no qualms about calling Lexa out despite her being in charge.

 

Lexa has to restrain herself from pouncing on Anya and enveloping her in a giant hug when the latter shows up at her door in the morning. It's Sunday and Anya usually comes by with coffee and pastries, Lexa remembers that. She's still completely unprepared to see Anya again after all this time. Anya stands before her, smirking, and her hair is slightly shorter and much softer, and her eyes twinkle with mirth, unhardened by burdens of their previous world. She stands just as tall and just as proud as always. Lexa wonders if Anya remembers anything; wonders if she should cautiously start the conversation about wars and death and clans and their people that they left behind.

 

Anya thrusts a brown paper bag in Lexa's chest and brushes past her with an eye roll, and Lexa decides against it, reveling in the warmth that spreads through her body.

 

“I'm not,” Lexa finds her voice, finally, and pads after Anya into the kitchen, watching as the older woman makes herself at home. She looks into her fridge and then turns to throw a judging look at Lexa, who simply shrugs, unloading the bag on the table. “I just... Bad dream, I guess.”

 

Anya's eyes flash with worry as she takes a seat. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes. Nothing to worry about. Must be this deal we're making with Nia.” Lexa swallows at the woman's name. Apparently, there are things she can't escape, no matter how she wishes to, and an alliance with Nia is one of them.

 

Her mentor – vice president, she corrects herself – sighs, grabbing her cup of coffee. “Lexa, I know how you feel about Nia, especially after Costia, but it's a good deal.”

 

“I know that,” she says. “I'm the one who proposed that, remember?”

 

“And I'm proud of you for making an informed executive decision,” Anya says, echoing herself from a couple of months ago. It's funny, Lexa thinks, that a couple of months ago she was simply Lexa Woods, without the added baggage of the Commander. Lexa Woods hasn't experienced piercing Nia's chest with a spear. There's always a possibility, of course, but she doubts corporate world will take lightly to her brutally and publicly murdering her competition.

 

Anya continues to speak. “National Association of Publishing Enterprises is an amazing project that I have no doubt you will complete. Don't let the past-”

 

“-deter me from our agenda,” Lexa finishes, words painfully echoing in her chest. “Yes. I won't, Anya.”

 

Her vice president nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, eat, get dressed, we're going out. Your apartment gives me the creeps.”

 

Lexa feels offended. “What's wrong with my apartment?”

 

“It's too  _American Psycho_ , complete with an empty fridge. I half expected to see someone's head in it.”

 

Lexa suppresses a shudder that wants to run through her whole body as Anya mentions a cut head, because Anya was there when Nia... When Nia posted pictures of her and Costia making love. This Anya was there when Nia forced Costia out of the closet and Costia was shipped away to Europe by her homophobic parents and Lexa hasn't seen her for several years since.

 

This Anya wasn't there when Nia shipped Costia's head to Lexa's bed.

 

“Okay, no kidding, Lexa – are you okay? You look green. Are you sick?” She feels like she's about to be.

 

“I'm fine.” She takes one look at pastries and quickly decides to skip breakfast when bile rises to her throat. “Give me ten minutes.”

 

//

 

Air clears her head, and she finds it easier to breath as they walk through the streets of New York. Lexa can't help but look around in awe; she both remembers and sees this city for the first time, and it's a sharp contrast against the last time she's seen tall buildings and busy crowds. This feels real. The sidewalk is dirty and the cars smell and a man is speaking angrily into his phone. Someone checks her with their shoulder as they pass by, and dull throb of pain makes her smile. It's unwashed and loud and vibrant. It's real.

 

“What are you smiling at?” Anya utters curiously. Lexa only shakes her head. She notices an ice cream stand and immediately tugs her friend in that direction, chuckling when she sees the blonde roll her eyes. “You and your ice cream. Sometimes I forget you're, what, twenty six? You're twenty six, Lexa. Let that sink in and stop tugging me to every ice cream stand you spot.”

 

“Never,” Lexa simply replies and smiles at the ice cream girl. The girl blushes cutely at her smile, and she feels her lips stretch wider. This feels... interesting, to her as Heda. She was loved by her people, yes, but after Costia, she never got close to anyone, and her people didn't even think of looking at her that way, afraid of disrespecting her somehow.

 

She thinks of blue eyes and blonde hair and a strong, defiant chin, and her smile falls. Anya notices.

 

“You've got serious mood swings today,” she comments, taking her cone from Lexa. “Care to share what's going on with you?”

 

She wishes she could, she really does, but she knows Anya won't believe a word she says. This Anya is pragmatic. Reincarnation, according to her, is bullshit; Lexa has a better chance of convincing her she's bipolar than trying to tell her she's remembered her past life as The Commander of Twelve Clans in the post-apocalyptic world. She has a hard time believing that herself. So she doesn't say anything. Instead, she shrugs and licks at her ice cream, nearly moaning at the taste. The girl behind the stand blushes harder, and Anya rolls her eyes, grabbing Lexa's elbow and dragging her away. Lexa waves at the girl and watches as she gives her a shy smile in return. This is definitely interesting.

 

“Stop picking up every girl you meet, Lexa,” her mentor scolds her. “I know you think you're such a hotshot, but STDs are very real and very uncomfortable to have.”

 

Lexa raises one eyebrow, still licking at her rapidly melting ice cream. God, it's hot today. “You happen to speak from personal experience?”

 

“Ha, ha,” Anya deadpans. “You're a riot. It's a well known fact, you dumbass.”

 

 _Watch your step, dum-dum_ echoes in her brain, and she blinks. Anya is young and wearing a long coat, crouching in front of Lexa as she watches her practice with a wooden sword, and her smirk is slow and lazy when Lexa missteps and falls on her butt, mud staining her pants.

 

Lexa blinks, and the image is gone.

 

This might be harder than she thought.

 

//

 

They reach Central Park and it's full of people, but Lexa doesn't mind. She likes it; likes watching them, trying to see if she can read their stories as they pass by, giving them stories if she can't. Maybe, that's why Lexa Woods of this world became a writer, she thinks. She's glad she isn't a politician; it's selfish, but she doesn't know if she'd be able to handle another burden thrusted upon her shoulders after everything that's happened.

 

She's still a leader, but no one demands she wages wars and kills.

 

Her ice cream is long gone, and she finds she's quite hungry, her appetite returning with her elevated mood. It's time for a famous hot dog, and she rushes to the street vendor, ignoring Anya's complaints. She ends up buying a hot dog for Anya, as well, and they sit on a bench, just looking over the lake and eating in comfortable silence. She thinks back to Polis; to Anya's visits and their shared meals. Anya didn't like her tower much, preferring the woods to concrete. Whenever she came by, she requested they have a meal outside. Lexa never objected. She liked it, as well. They shared something during their silence as they ate, and soon, outside meals were reserved for Anya and Anya only. The only person she wanted to have them with after Anya passed was Clarke.

 

She never got the chance to to take Clarke to their place, and she locks her jaw at the thought. She should stop thinking about her. Clarke won. Clarke is safe and, wherever she is, Lexa hopes she's happy. If Clarke is somewhere in this world, too, Lexa hopes she's surrounded by her friends and family, loved and safe. And if she's honest with herself, she hopes that they don't meet in this life. Clarke was happy before she met her. Clarke's heart was whole and she had her people. Lexa broke it. She broke her.

 

She remembers lips trembling against her own and parting words, shaky and filled with tears, and she knows she never wants to cause her pain like this. But she knows she will, should they meet again. It's inevitable, and it sits like a stone at the bottom of her stomach, and all she can do is simply hope that they don't meet. Clarke deserves better. She deserves more. She deserves someone who will keep her and her heart safe, because god knows Lexa failed at both.

 

And Lexa? She'll live her life, with Anya and Gustus and Indra and Lincoln. And natblidas – they are not nightbloods in this world, but they are still here, led by Aden in an orphanage supported by her company. They are kids forced to grow up too soon, her kids, and she will do right by them. She still has her people. She still has Anya, and they have their outside meals, and to her, it's more than enough.

 

“Thank you, Anya,” is out of her mouth before she can stop it. The older woman casts a curious glance at her, taking a bite of her hot dog.

 

“For what exactly?”

 

Lexa swallows. For everything, she wants to say. For your guidance. For your strength. For your compassion. For your sacrifice. For leading Clarke to me. “Just... for being here for me. For being you.”

 

And Anya, like always, seems to understand. “Oh, Lexa,” she breaths, turning so she faces her. “That's not something you say thank you for.”

 

“I'm still grateful.”

 

“And I'm grateful for you, too, and we're never mentioning that again.” Lexa nods. She gets it; it seems that in any version of reality, Anya struggles with her emotions. She can relate. “This is way too heavy for me,” the blonde admits.

 

“Sorry.”

  
  
“Don't apologize for telling me how incredible I am.” Just like that, they are back to normal. “Oh, by the way, there's something I wanted to tell you before you went all mushy on me. Lincoln met this girl, and her friend is amazing at illustrations. Just what we needed, seriously. I wanted to send you an email with samples of her work yesterday, but you mentioned wanting to rest, so...”

 

“It's fine,” Lexa smiles. “I trust you. Of course, I want to take a look at them, still, and schedule an interview with her, but I already know she'll probably pass.”

 

Anya snorts. “If she's anything like the girl Lincoln met, she sure will. I think she also does photography, but I only saw her art, and I'm ready to offer her a full-time position.” She nods at Lexa's wide-eyed look. “Yeah, she's that good. Maybe you've heard about her? She's a recent college graduate, but Lincoln says she's pretty big on social media. She does commissions and they are pretty popular, which means we'll have to offer her good money so her work is exclusive to us, but she's worth it.”

 

Lexa is more than intrigued at this point. Anya rarely sings praises to anyone, herself included; so her saying all this about this girl must mean she's pretty darn talented. “What's her name?” She asks, curiously, as she peels some of the wrapping paper away from her half-eaten hot dog. Maybe she did hear of the girl; she's been monitoring the underground art scene for a while now, ever since they began looking for an illustrator. She remembers that.

 

“Ugh, it's C something. You know how I am with names sometimes, Okay, give me a second,” Anya reaches into her pocket, taking her phone out and quickly scrolling through it. “Got it!”

 

Lexa's about to take another bite when Anya speaks. 

 

“It's Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

 

Her hot dog slips through her fingers, and they watch as it hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!


	2. Chapter 2

She wishes Clarke weren't so damn talented. Because if she weren't, Anya wouldn't be so adamant about hiring her, and Lexa wouldn't have to meet her. Again. And no, she absolutely refuses to think of that fucking phrase that runs through her heart like a poisoned arrow, making it bleed. It's all one giant, cruel universal joke, but it feels inevitable, and Clarke does, too.

 

She knows, of course, that all she needs to do is say a word and Anya will drop this new promising artist. She will argue and roll her eyes and call Lexa a fool, but she will drop Clarke and won't ever speak of her again. Lexa won't lie; the thought crossed her mind as she lay at night, wide awake, her mind full of blue and blonde. It would be easy. Say no, refuse to see Clarke, and move on with her new life.

 

It's always easier to do the wrong thing, Lexa's learned in both of her lives; and shutting Clarke out is wrong for one simple reason – she would be taking Clarke's choice away. Clarke's choice to work at her company; Clarke's choice be in her life in whatever way she wants to be; Clarke's choice to love her all over again. Should she choose to, of course.

 

Lexa swallows her unshed tears and pours herself a glass full of whiskey and doesn't sleep for the remainder of the night.

 

On Monday, she walks into her building with her jaw set, her gaze sharp, and her ego actively ignoring being spooked by a taxi earlier. In her defense, it's like it appeared out of nowhere. Her hand automatically reached for a sword, and she spent the entire ride silently berating herself for her reaction. She also quickly concluded that she's not ready to drive her car yet. It takes her several deep breaths and a quick mediation on the go to get back to her self-assured state.

 

Her confidence wavers as soon as she runs into Indra.

 

“Good morning, Ms Woods,” Indra says, and Lexa has to hold onto elevator wall to stay upright. She thought she was prepared for this; prepared to see faces she's left behind. Turns out, she was wrong.

 

Indra's strong, steady hand on her arm grounds her. “Ms Woods? Are you alright?”

 

“Yes,” Lexa mutters, shaking her head. She doesn't, however, shake Indra's hand off. She can't remember a time Indra has touched her like this; with familiarity and respectful affection. She only remembers curt nods and strong _Hedas_ and barely restrained growls and submissive tilts of her head. This Indra – she, much like this Anya, is familiar yet so, so different, and Lexa wonders, not for the first time, if she's strong enough to handle this. “Yes, Indra,” she forces herself to utter. “I'm fine. A little tired.” She stands upright, nodding at the woman. “Nothing I can't handle.”

 

It's enough for her assistant, who nods back, impassive expression back on her face. “Of course, Ms Woods.”

 

Lexa never felt happier to step out of the elevator.

 

//

 

She calls Anya into her office as soon as she sees her, and the woman nods, following her. They enter, and Lexa blinks at the amount of light in the room, thanks to huge floor-to-ceiling windows right behind her desk. She remembers it, of course, but having a memory in her head and actually seeing this are two vastly different things.

 

She runs her fingers on a smooth wooden surface of her desk and almost jumps when she hears Anya clear her throat behind her pointedly.

 

“If you called me in here to gloat about your office...”

 

“I apologize,” Lexa faces her, inwardly rolling her eyes at a typical Anya smirk. “I've actually called you in here to discuss Clarke Griffin.” She thickly swallows at the name and prays to gods that Anya doesn't notice.

 

She doesn't.

 

“Okay,” her vice president nods slowly. “Have you looked through her work? Did you look her up on social media? What do you think?” Anya is impatient, and Lexa knows why; they've been hunting for a good illustrator for almost two months. To Anya, this Clarke Griffin seems like a perfect candidate. And she, as Lexa Woods, has to agree.

 

Clarke is so damn talented and that's the whole problem.

 

Lexa feels her throat bob. “She's very good,” she says in a neutral tone, and cringes mentally when Anya's eyebrows go up.

 

“ _Very good_ – are you kidding me? She's awesome, Lexa, come on. Her interview is today at eleven, I had Indra clear your schedule.” Her friend walks over to a leather sofa she has in her office and makes herself comfortable, crossing her long legs and straightening the slit of her dress. Lexa sits next to her, unbuttoning her suit jacket with one hand as she does so.

 

“Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about,” she says. “I don't think I'm needed at this interview. This is your candidate, and you're vice president of marketing, after all. I trust your expertise and I think you should be the one to conduct the interview. She'll be in your team, and it's up to you to determine her fit with the company and the job.”

 

Anya stares at her for a full minute, not saying anything, and Lexa feels worse than she did the night before the conclave when she's suggested she kills herself so no one has to do it for her, and Anya gave her the same look. “What?” She asks finally, not able to bear the judgmental gaze any longer. She thinks it's about to become a screaming match when Anya tenses up, but then the blonde's eyes widen slightly in realization before she rolls them and scoffs.

 

“Lexa,” she says. “You're so fucking gay.”

 

She feels rightfully offended. “That's... I fail to see what this has to do with anything,” she utters, indignantly. Anya's eyes flash with barely concealed mirth.

 

“Right. So the fact that this Clarke Griffin is not only talented, but also _smoking_ hot, has nothing to do with you chickening out of your appointment.”

 

Lexa feels her cheeks burn, and she tells herself it's anger. “Anya,” she says, dangerously. “This is a potential employee you're talking about. Show some respect.”

 

“Oh, my God, are you actually fucking _jealous_?”

 

“Your ability to constantly come to ridiculous conclusions astonishes me.”

  

“No amount of textbook talk will change the fact that you stalked Griffin's instagram and fell madly in lust with her magnificent boobs.”

 

“Anya!” This time, Lexa barely stops herself from growling, because this is the kind of talk she will not tolerate. Not only about Clarke, she tells herself.

 

Her vice president, however, is having none of it. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you aren't attracted to this girl.”

 

“I can't be attracted to her,” Lexa says. “I don't even know her.” Something must flash in her eyes, then, because Anya's face softens, just barely. Lexa shifts her gaze and stares ahead, not wanting to give anything away. More than she already has. “I simply think it's time I give you more freedom to do things your way. You've more than earned it.”

 

Anya nods. “Okay,” she says, and Lexa can hear that she's not okay with it and she's not buying whatever it is Lexa's trying to sell. “Sure. But I already have several meetings I can't postpone, and we have to meet with her today. It's crucial.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because if you've bothered to scroll past Griffin's cleavage having a good time in Mexico, you would've noticed that she has an interview with Azgeda tomorrow. Same position. If we hire her on the spot, Nia won't get her hands on her.”

 

Lexa crumples the irony and metaphors in her fist. She's not Heda anymore. Nia doesn't have a bounty for the capture of Clarke kom Skaikru. Azgeda the Ice Nation doesn't plan on beheading Wanheda and sending her head to the Commander. Azgeda the publishing enterprise will hire Clarke Griffin and have her illustrate their projects and will continue to thrive on lies and gossip.

 

Anya mistakes Lexa's inner turmoil for frustration and pats her shoulder sympathetically. “Yeah, I know. Fucking Nia. That's why we need to get to this girl before they do, so woman up, meet with this girl, and try to keep it in your pants. Your awesome pants, by the way. Is that a new suit?”

 

“I am not attracted to Clarke Griffin,” Lexa lies through her teeth. “I don't know her.”

 

“Lexa,” Anya replies, her eyebrow arched. “If it makes you feel better, I don't know her either but I can't deny how hot she is, just like I can't deny that I, too, would be down if she asked.”

 

“This is highly unprofessional.”

 

Her vice president claps her hands together once, satisfied. “Exactly. I'm so unprofessional. So unprofessional, in fact, that I can't conduct this interview. Come on, Lex. You're my only hope.”

 

“Quoting Star Wars. Terrific.”

 

“I know I am.”

 

//

 

Gustus is on vacation, and she's glad he is. She's afraid of what she'll do when she sees him trying to hide his smile in his beard; when she hears his gruffy yet affectionate Lexa. She's afraid she'll crumble in his arms when he gives her one of his giant hugs that he's so intent on giving freely and constantly in this world. For now, her new memories are enough to leave lips bitten with concealed emotion. She has no idea how she will handle seeing him in front of her, tall and proud and alive. She wonders how Clarke did it; how she handled seeing her and didn't crumble to pieces; but then she chastises herself for thinking such selfish thoughts. Clarke had the whole world to save. She didn't, couldn't possibly have had time to break over her.

 

She remembers a desperate I love you leave Clarke's trembling lips and she has to bite her lip to stop burning ache spreading through her chest. It spills, anyway.

 

She has no idea how she's going to do this, and she doesn't know what she hopes for more: for Clarke to remember or for her to be oblivious. She is about to find out, because in about three minutes, her niron will walk through the glass door.

 

Three minutes turn into seconds, and when she lifts her gaze from her desk, her eyes lock with crystal blue and no, she's not, she's absolutely not ready.

 

She watches as the girl she loves awkwardly nods at Indra and fidgets slightly by the door, grasping at a large folder that Lexa assumes is her portfolio. She watches as Clarke gulps nervously and takes several steps into her office, turning to throw a glance at Indra who stoically closes the door behind her as she leaves. She watches as Clarke turns to face her again and gives her a tense smile, not quite knowing what to do with her hands. She watches and watches and watches and, when silence begins to border on uncomfortable, she blurts out the first thing that comes to her.

 

“You're the one who made banners for Multiverse.”

 

Clarke's response is immediate and relieved. “You're the one who bought their company.” She smiles; her actual, honest-to-goodness smile that hurts and soothes Lexa at the same time. “Funny how fate works out sometimes, huh?”

 

Lexa wants to howl with laughter because Clarke is so incredibly right, even if she doesn't remember why.

 

She doesn't remember, and Lexa doesn't know if she should feel relieved; a heavy ache spreading through her chest doesn't exactly allow her to. Clarke, radiant, beautiful Clarke, her face fresh and her eyes alight as she stands before her, doesn't exactly allow her relief, either.

 

She takes her eyes off of the girl because she's sure her staring is unwanted. “I've come to learn that fate has a very... particular sense of humor,” she offers in reply.

 

Clarke gives her a curious glance. “You sound like you have a lot of experience with that.” They both do, actually; but Clarke doesn't remember. Her eyes are clear and young; Lexa doesn't see the burdens of _Wanheda_ weighing her down. This is the girl who came to secure a position in a large company; bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, her whole future in front of her in this world, safe and vibrant and full of life. This girl didn't spit in her face. This girl didn't hold a knife to her throat. This girl didn't come to her fight with Roan. This girl didn't wish her goodnight and didn't bandage her hand and didn't cling to her as she said her goodbye not one, but three times.

 

Except she did and she doesn't remember.

 

Lexa blinks her memories away, and Clarke is still standing before her. “I don't, really,” she says, finally, and gives the blonde a tight smile. “Not a lot. I think it's time we've properly met,” she stands up and walks around her desk, outstretching her hand for Clarke to shake. “Lexa Woods.”

 

“Clarke Griffin,” she replies, and her eyes twinkle with her smile. “It's nice to meet you, Lexa Woods.” Lexa's mind screams and howls and burns and Clarke's hand in hers is slightly calloused and warm.

 

“It's nice to meet you, too.” She draws in a small breath. “ _Clarke_.”

 

Blue eyes flash with _something_ , and Lexa's heart leaps into her throat.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to thank you guys for such a great response this work got. I wanna thank you for all the kudos and comments you left, and I hope that this work will become a beacon of hope for those of us who are still hurting. I know I am. Probably won't ever stop. And this is why getting aggressive messages about not updating as regularly as some people would like me to is really disappointing when I feel like I've done nothing but help you guys heal.
> 
> I am not abandoning any of my works and I will finish all of my clexa fics that are currently in progress. However, I happen to be a person with other commitments who enjoys writing fan fiction as a way of coping and escaping and dealing and many other things that are personal and belong only to me. If I'm not updating for some period of time, then maybe it means life got in the way. 
> 
> I'm sorry if I seem harsh, but I received a message that really got on my nerves, along with a rather insensitive comment that got on my nerves, as well. It'd do good for some people to remember that fic writers don't get paid for any of the work we do and really, we're not exactly obligated to do this. Didn't think it'd be necessary to point this out.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate all of you who understand the concept of human decency. This chapter is very short. I am experiencing a bit of a writer's block at the moment, but I still wanted to put it out there, along with my message. Hopefully, you'll like it.

Clarke demonstrates passion, exhibits an admirable work ethic, and proves herself to be an incredibly valuable addition to their team, and it's only been two weeks since she first set foot in her building. She apparently has worked in several magazines and publishing agencies prior to joining Trigeda, and it shows. She's independent but not cocky, and she isn't afraid of asking questions when something isn't clear. Anya can't stop gushing about her (in her own, aloof way) and Lexa feels like she... Well, like she's in a parallel universe. Which is exactly where she is. Some analogies don't quite work as well in her case. So, yes. After initially butting heads and engaging in a silent stare-down that Lexa walked in on accidentally, Anya and Clarke seemed to find a solid common ground, and the vice-president evidently enjoys working with the blonde.

 

Same can't exactly be said about Clarke and Lexa.

 

It's not that Lexa doesn't enjoy working with Clarke. Well, they don't even work together all that much; Clarke, however, still manages to constantly be around Lexa; whether she's deliberately finding ways to do so or fate really does have sick sense of humor, Lexa isn't exactly sure. She thought, at first, that Clarke did remember her but wasn't sure if Lexa remembered her back; but the blonde is nothing but professional and politely friendly every time they somehow stumble into each other's path. However, every encounter ends with Clarke's curious glance and an amused half-smile, and so Lexa doesn't exactly knows what to think.

 

This Clarke is confusing. And charming, but that's not exactly news. Somehow she managed to charm the hell out of Indra and also annoy Titus to hell and back and seriously, will the irony ever end? As Lexa sits at her desk and listens to Titus rant on and on about Clarke's questionable executive decisions, she is forced to accept that it probably won't.

 

She also thinks that Anya's idea about a mini bar in the office doesn't sound so bad now.

 

“Will all due respect, Ms. Woods, you give her too much power,” Titus's accented words are crisp and sharp. “Last week, she approved _Arkadia_ 's cover. Without consulting Ms. Trikru. This... _girl_ is making decisions that-”

 

“This _girl_ has provided invaluable insight and proved to be excellent at her job.” Lexa isn't even snarking; she's just tiredly repeating words she's said several times, all to one person. “And she hasn't even been here for two weeks. Ms Griffin has great understanding of how this business works, and her talents extend far beyond simple illustrating.” She lifts her eyes to meet Titus's dark gaze. “She is an asset that I would be stupid not to use. Tell me, Titus – do you think I'm stupid?”

 

Her secretary pursues his lips, realizing that he's lost – again. “Of course not, Ms. Woods. You're a visionary.” Lexa decided against suggesting that he shoves his flattery up his ass. Although it might be a pretty tight fit seeing as his head is already taking up most of the space up there.

 

“Unless you have something positive to say, I don't want to hear a word about Ms. Griffin. You've wasted enough of my time.” She stares at him for a moment too long before standing up and looking out the window, demonstrating that this conversation is over. A deep sigh and the sound of receding footsteps let her know that he's gone. Only then she allows herself to let out a heavy breath, shaking her head.

 

Hopefully, this time Titus won't try to shoot Clarke.

 

(Pain is sharp and Clarke's blue eyes are wide with shock as they freeze and her fingers are wet and black and black and-)

 

“-oods? Ms. Woods, are you alright?”

 

Lexa blinks herself out of her stupor, realizing that she's been staring at her hand pressed against her stomach for god knows how long. Her perfectly clean hand clutching her perfectly clean white shirt that covers her perfectly woundless stomach. Huh. She could have sworn she saw her blood seep through her fingers. It might be necessary to look into getting some therapy after all; it's pretty hard not to have PTSD after dying. Twice.

 

A slightly calloused hand touches her arm gently and she almost jumps.

 

“Ms Woods?” There's something urgent now in this raspy voice; Lexa lets it wash over her, basking in familiarity of touch and sound. “Is everything okay?”

 

“ _Lexa? Oh my god...” Clarke is clinging to her with desperation Lexa's never had directed at her. She looks just like the day they met. Her face is clean of scars; her clothes are foreign but her smell is familiar and her breathing is ragged and broken in her ear as she exhales, trembling in Lexa's arms. She's home. Just for a second; a second that's about to end._

 

Lexa blinks her memories away. “I'm fine.” She clears her throat – something she finds herself doing frequently around Clarke Griffin. “I'm... I'm fine. Is there something you need, Ms. Griffin?”

 

Blue eyes blink and Lexa barely catches a flash of disappointment before it's gone. She can't quite figure this Clarke out and she's too proud to admit that she's afraid to try.

 

“I... Yes. I brought layouts for you to look at.” She lifts a file for Lexa to see. “You, uh, you asked for them?”

 

“Right.” She takes the file, nodding. Clarke mistakes that for dismissal and nods back, a bit too sharply to be casual, before turning to leave; Lexa curses herself under her breath. That was incredibly rude of her. The whole encounter feels... frustrating, and she finds she is eager to change that. “Clarke, wait.” Maybe _too_ eager.

 

Her eyes widen at her sudden slip up; she imagines that Clarke's eyes do, too. Lexa watches, breath baited, as Clarke's back stiffens, just for a second, but enough to let Lexa know it was entirely unexpected for her, as well.

 

Blonde hair fall over her shoulder as the girl turns, and Lexa has to fight against the urge to roll her eyes at a barely concealed smirk. “Oh, so it's Clarke now, Ms. Woods?”

 

Lexa really, really does not want to read too much into things, but this Clarke is careless and unreserved with her emotions and her tone is most certainly, definitely sultry. Lexa knows what she sounds like when she wants-

 

She stops that train of thought. It leads nowhere, anyway. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

 

Clarke's laugh is quiet but full. “Don't worry, I won't file a sexual harassment complaint,” she teases. “Won't be fair since I liked it.” Lexa watches Clarke's pupils widen just slightly and wonders if they are still talking about her calling Clarke by her first name – but of course they are, because what else could they be talking about? This Clarke – she doesn't remember all the things Lexa's done that she liked. It's endlessly frustrating; trying to merge her Clarke and this Clarke together in her mind. Lexa's not sure she'll ever succeed.

 

Not for the first time, she wonders if she made a mistake by letting Clarke into her life.

 

“So... I don't want to seem rude, but... Was there something you wanted or?...” Clarke's amused voice breaks Lexa out of her musings, and the brunette blinks, lifting her eyes to meet her gaze. Right.

 

“Yes, actually. ” she replies. “Would you mind looking over the layouts together with me? I'd like to get a fresh perspective. A second opinion, if you will.”

 

Clarke's smile, wide and excited, is answer enough.

 

“I'd be happy to, Ms. Woods!”

 

“Lexa,” she finds herself saying. “Please. Just Lexa.”

 

She's not prepared for the onslaught of emotion that stirs up in her chest when Clarke says her name to see how it fits in her mouth, and then frowns, briefly, just for a second, throwing a look Lexa's way that she can't quite decipher. It's gone all too soon, replaced by a brilliant smile and brilliant eyes, and Lexa both regrets and welcomes the time they are about to spend together because she already knows it's about to be the sweetest torture she's ever had to endure.

 

And in a previous life, she had Clarke in her bed for an hour.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Looking over the layouts turns into three hours of discussion, focused collaboration, and easy jokes. In three hours, they blow through a theme for next issues of several magazines, concepts of photoshoots scheduled next month, and begin to approach a negotiation deal with _Azgeda_ when Lexa glances at her watch and barely suppresses a gasp.

 

Three hours. They've done so much in three hours. She just spent three hours in Clarke Griffin's company and didn't hyperventilate once. She's not gonna lie, that makes her feel rather proud.

 

(But she just spent three hours with Clarke Griffin and her stomach has been doing somersaults randomly the whole time. Clarke scrunches her nose up when she's concentrating, and bites her tongue when she smiles, and oh, this is bad. So good but so bad.)

 

Clarke's curious gaze is on her, and she clears her throat, idly gathering papers scattered across the table. She uses it for negotiations that take place in her office; tonight, it's been their brainstorming centre. For the hundredth time, Lexa tries to ignore her memories of this table being used as a bed once, with Costia splayed out on it, writhing, begging; she tries to stop her mind rom going there but dark skin becomes pale and warm chocolate eyes flash bright blue and it's blonde hair scattered all over the surface and...

 

This isn't working.

 

“It's late,” she announces abruptly, and Clarke blinks. “Oh,” she says, glancing at her watch. _Her father's watch,_ flashes through Lexa's mind. It's old and withered, chunky on Clarke's wrist; it doesn't go at all with the outfit Clarke's wearing, white blazer and green dress that perfectly accentuates her curves. Lexa shakes her head at herself, frowning. _Seriously? What are you, sixteen?_

 

“Oh, wow,” Clarke breathes, her eyes widening. “It's been three hours! God,” she glances up at the brunette, chewing on her bottom lip. Lexa would really like it if she stopped doing that. She keeps silent, though. “I'm so sorry, Lexa. I didn't mean to – I 'm sorry I made you stay this late.”

 

Lexa's eyebrow arches involuntary. “I believe it's the other way around,” she chuckles, amused.

 

“But I was the one who kept bringing things up and-”

 

“ _Clarke.”_ Lexa's voice is soft and kind as she gently interrupts the blonde, and it's suddenly overwhelming. To both of them, it seems; Lexa doesn't miss the way Clarke's breath catches in her throat. But it could be something else, Lexa reasons; anything else. It doesn't mean much. She swallows and presses on. “It's fine. I'm used to staying late, anyway. You're the one who was just hired and already made to sit in the office till nine.”

 

“I don't mind.” Clarke's answer is quick and easy, just like her smile. Lexa remembers this smile. She knows what this smile tastes like; sun and warmth and stardust splattered across glistening lips.

 

_This isn't working._

 

“Regardless. I'm sorry, and it is rather late. We should get going if we want to be fresh and sharp tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Clarke's smile widens, and Lexa feels her lips quirk in reply. “I'm all for being fresh and sharp. At the top of my game.”

 

“Well, you certainly are.”

 

“Not like you, though.”

 

Lexa chuckles, shaking her head. “Fine: we're both great.” Clarke's smile is bashful, yet there is a lingering trace of curious flirtation that's plain to see; perhaps because she did not intend to hide it from her. It makes Lexa's chest feel warm.

 

They don't exchange many words after that, only glances and smiles as they part on a parking lot. The urge to brush her lips against the blonde's in a farewell is clawing against her chest; she hopes Clarke can't hear her rapid heartbeat when she awkwardly shakes her hand, neither of them knowing exactly what is the proper goodbye for them. Lexa sees Clarke to her car despite her light protests, and watches the blonde drive off. It all feels familiar and strange at the same time.

 

Lexa tells herself this is the first and the last time she's allowed this to happen.

 

//

 

It becomes a regular occurrence.

 

Clarke comes into her office to drop something off, they engage in a friendly discussion, and it's well after ten that Lexa stands in an empty parking lot, save for her Lexus and Clarke's old trusted Ford, and watches the blonde start her car. It's not a big deal, she tells herself; it's strictly professional. Clarke is hungry for experience, and Lexa is well-known for her wild success story. It's only natural that Clarke is seeking mentorship from her; the girl has ambition, after all. For all she knows, Clarke could be engaged, married, with kids; she could be only attracted to opposite sex; they don't share their life stories, and it's comfortable and polite and completely impersonal.

 

Except Clarke is seemingly intent on proving her wrong.

 

“Ugh, this one looks just like the girl I dated in college,” she huffs one time as they go through pictures from yesterday's photoshoot, their shoulders touching and their fingers bumping occasionally as they share a bowl of m&m's. The model Clarke is pointing to is tall and brunette and beautiful. Lexa breathes in and out slowly. “Would it be too petty of me to pick a photo where she's far in the back?”

 

Lexa snorts. “Bad breakup?” She steals a red m&m right out of Clarke's palm, grinning at the blonde's faux indignant expression. Right as she's about to put it in her mouth, Clarke taps her wrist, making her drop the candy straight into her outstretched hand. She does that every time and every time Lexa is caught off guard.

 

“Kinda,” the blonde shrugs, chewing slowly. Lexa sighs and picks out other red m&ms, placing them on Clarke's side of the bowl. “It wasn't anything too serious. The break up itself wasn't really bad, it was she acted afterwards. Well, not _her_ ,” she gestures at the screen where the model is smirking at them. “The actual her.”

 

Lexa nods. “I'm sorry,” she offers, along with a handful of red m&m's. Clarke's eyes light up as she takes them, smiling in gratitude. “We don't have to use her pictures at all.”

 

“No! Lexa,” the blonde laughs. “I was kidding. I'm not about to ruin someone's career just because they look like my douche of an ex. This one's great. I vote this one.” She clicks on a picture where the models are carefully placed to give an illusion of a candid moment. The tall brunette girl is front and center; Lexa swallows her irrational annoyance, berating herself. The photo really is great; Clarke has good taste.

 

“I second that vote.” She drags the photo to a folder titled 'final', sighing with content as she stretches in her chair, then, rubbing her tired eyes. It isn't even her job, really; nor it is Clarke's, but somehow they ended up talking about the article and they were the only ones in the office left when the photos were sent to Anya's mail with Lexa in the copy, and so they decided to look through them, out of curiosity.

 

She opens her eyes when there's nothing coming from Clarke; it's unusual for the girl to be so quiet and still. She isn't constantly talking, no; but she's always moving and sighing and humming. Her eyes find Clarke's blue ones, and it's the sudden vulnerability and apprehension in them that has her sitting upright.

 

“It's not... You're okay with it, right?” Clarke speaks before she can ask what's wrong. “With me being bisexual. I mean... It's probably stupid, and I know how supportive your company is of our community, but...” She trails of, unsure and seemingly frustrated. Lexa blinks.

 

“I'm gay,” she blurts out. Well, as far as coming outs go, this one is much less graceful than Clarke's nonchalant one moments ago. “I thought you knew. Everyone pretty much knows, especially after – didn't you google me? I think it's somewhere on the third search page.”

 

Clarke giggles. “Lexa, I did read about your company, but I didn't google you, and I certainly didn't go as far as the third page. No one goes past first page, come on.” She sobers up after that. “I... I thought about it, but it felt like an invasion of privacy. I just skimmed through your wikipedia page, and there wasn't anything about your sexuality. Not that I wondered,” she hurries to say, and Lexa doesn't miss the pretty pink that coats her cheeks. “It's none of my business. I appreciate you telling me this. Thank you for trusting me.”

 

Lexa nods. “It's not really a secret. I've never hid it. And I have no problem with you being bisexual. Obviously. Wait no; not obviously. There's plenty of biphobia in our community, and I'm... I'm not one for it. No one in my company is, and if you ever experience it, I encourage you to file a complaint; I also hope you trust me enough to tell me about it personally.”

 

Clarke's smile is quiet and soft, brimming with gratitude; Lexa struggles against puffing her chest up. Clarke's next question, however, makes her deflate. “You mentioned something about... When you told me you were gay, you said everyone knew, especially after... What? If I may ask. I hope I'm not intruding.”

 

Lexa locks her jaw and tells Clarke about Costia, then. About them being young and in love. About Costia's parents being religious leaders; radical and unforgiving. About her having to stay in the closet for her love, because Costia wouldn't be able to associate with Lexa if her parents knew she was gay. About her juggling work and Costia and sworn secrets; spending nights in the office, sometimes. About them being stupid and careless and about Nia using that to her advantage. About leaked photos and Costia's tearful goodbye. When she finishes, Clarke's eyes are wet and shiny, and her hand on her thigh is warm and heavy.

 

“Lexa,” she breathes; Lexa doesn't realize she's crying until a soft thumb wipes at her cheek. Oh, how she longs to tell Clarke both stories; to let her know that the real reason she's crying is because this time, Costia at least had a chance to say goodbye. She held her hand and kissed her lips and cried on her shoulder as they lay, entwined, trembled, naked, for one last time; Lexa foolishly holding onto hope that her first love might come back, and Costia knowing she won't. She wants so badly to tell Clarke that tears streaming down her face are not of sadness, but of relief; this Costia is alive and well, talking walks in small charming alleys and visiting old haunted castles. She wants to tell Clarke everything she didn't have the chance to before; she wants to tell her about cold nights and terrible nightmares and sleeping on the floor; about private breakdowns no one, not even Anya, was allowed to see.

 

She wants to tell her about excruciatingly long three months of waking up paralyzed with fear; dreading to receive a package dripping with blood; terrified of another love ending in gruesome tragedy. (Except Clarke lost her first.)

 

She doesn't realize she's shaking with sobs until she is drawn into a tight hug. Her senses fill with Clarke; her scent, fresh, somewhat heavy but still delicate, the softness of her curves and skin. She lets out a trembling breath, clinging to the blonde and not caring what it may look like. Clarke whispers something, stroking her back soothingly, and she closes her eyes and lets herself drown in the moment and in the woman she loves.

 

They stay like this for what seems like hours before Lexa finally snaps out of it, clearing her throat and gently untangling herself from Clarke's embrace. Well, this is embarrassing. But Clarke's eyes are warm and genuine, and her hand on her thigh is no longer heavy.

 

“It's okay,” Clarke whispers, and Lexa barely suppresses her hysterical laughter at her next words. “You're okay.”

 

After that, Clarke stays for longer, and Lexa's candy supply seems to grow. Lexa ends up giving Clarke all red m&ms anyway. They become even more comfortable around each other; Lexa begins to look forward to their shared evenings.

 

Up until Clarke has to cancel and Lexa is reminded of her place in Clarke's life. A boss. A manager. A CEO who provides professional insight and shares knowledge.

 

That day, she walks up to Clarke herself, eager to share something exciting; words die on her tongue as soon as Clarke looks up at her, sudden realization and guilt on her face.

 

“Tonight's Octavia's birthday,” she says.

 

Lexa swallows and nods. “Tell her happy birthday from me.” Lincoln mentioned that, during one of their sparring sessions; he asked her advice on birthday gift, and she itched to tell him to give Oktevia a knife collection. Instead, she shrugged. _I don't know her,_ she said. It's this Friday, he told her.

 

So, today. It is expected that Clarke will go to Octavia's party tonight, instead of wasting her time with Lexa. Octavia is one of her close friends, as far as Lexa's gathered; they went to the same school and same university and are now roommates. Clarke doesn't owe her these evenings, anyway.

 

Clarke will always choose her people – _oh, but what a selfish, childish thing to think,_ Lexa scolds herself. She is no one special in Clarke's life; these analogies, while ironic, do not work in this world. It's time she let go. She allowed herself to fall into this trap and it's on her to get out of it.

 

Clarke storms into her office on Monday, after most of the employees left the building, and Lexa pauses her pouring, a bottle of scotch gripped tightly in her hand.

 

“Scotch? On Monday? Really?” Clarke scrunches up her nose and Lexa struggles to hold on to her bottle. “Lexa, I just received my payslip.”

 

Lexa frowns briefly, taking a careful sip and welcoming the burn of alcohol down her throat. Clarke's nostrils flare up at that, but she doesn't comment this time, and Lexa is grateful. “Was it not satisfactory? You may take it up with HR. Write an email and put me in a copy.”

 

Clarke huffs, frustrated. “No. It was more than satisfactory. That's the problem. It's way above my actual salary.” Blue eyes narrow, then. Lexa's mind flashes back to her tent; a small, determined body advancing on her and backing her into a table, gaze furious and hot. “And it says overtime. I didn't fill in my overtime.”

 

“You didn't. I did.” Lexa takes another sip, relaxing. So that's what it's all about. “You've been working hard and you deserve this.”

 

“Lexa,” Clarke says, slowly. “I wasn't working. We were hanging out. I don't expect to be paid for spending time with you. As flattering as it is, I am not an escort.” She scrunches her nose up again; Lexa can't help the adoring sigh that escapes from her. “Especially not such an expensive one.”

 

Lexa tries and fails not to snort.

 

“I'm glad you find this amusing.” Despite her clipped tone, Clarke's lips twitch, hinting on a smile.

 

“I'm sorry.” And she is. “I didn't mean to imply I think of you as... I'm sorry,” she hurries to finish. “Unfortunately, I doubt the money can be retracted now. If you wish, we may simply underpay you this exact amount next month.”

 

Clarke nods. “I do wish. I mean it, Lexa,” she says, warningly. “If I receive my full salary next month, I will riot.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. As if she'd ever try to pull something like that. As soon as Clarke gave her confirmation, Lexa was ready to do so, no questions asked. But Clarke doesn't know that. “We are certainly lucky to have you,” she chooses to quip. “It's not everyday you see an employee reject overpay.”

 

“I'm not an everyday employee.” Something in Clarke's voice, earnest and genuine, tells Lexa it isn't a simple witty reply.

 

Lexa is inclined to agree.

 

Next day, Clarke walks into her office with plastic containers full of sushi and snacks, and they stay till midnight. Clarke threatens to eat the last of Philadelphia rolls if Lexa doesn't promise her she won't pay her overtime, and Lexa agrees with a heavy sigh, grinning as she is presented the last roll. She chews happily, slowing down when she notices Clarke stare at her; but as she's about to ask if there's something on her face, the blonde blinks rapidly, seemingly snapping herself out of it, and smiles.

 

Lexa resumes her chewing and ignores the hopeful flutter in her chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!


	5. Chapter 5

Lexa 's fist connects with flesh, and she smirks at her opponent doubling over for a split second. He barely manages to block her as she comes at him next, delivering a series of fast punches, finishing with a roundhouse kick that sends him staggering back from the sheer force. Perhaps, the fact that she's feeling this alive when she gets to beat him up says something about her as a person. Perhaps not.

 

“At least _pretend_ to fight back, Lincoln,” she calls out, putting her fists up. Lincoln simply shakes his head, smiling. So far, he's been the easiest to get reacquainted with; she remembers him as a capable warrior and a gentle man, and it's something that is still true in this world. Lincoln; a man who chose love over war, over and over again; only to die for it in the end. Perhaps, that's the reason their souls stuck together in this world; in her previous life, she wasn't close with him, but in this one, he's a loyal friend. And one hell of a sparring partner.

 

She fakes with her left and comes at him from the right, huffing when he manages to block her at the last moment. He then hits her stomach, knocking the wind out of her; but she manages to roll away when he's about to deliver another blow, and do a leg sweep, knocking him on his ass. She then places her foot on his chest, her fist ready to strike should he try and get up; he blinks in surprise, raising his hands up in defeat. Lexa grins. Lincoln is a capable warrior, but he is no match for Heda.

 

Same cannot be said for Lexa Woods, and Lincoln has every right to be astonished.

 

“Have you been training without me?” He asks curiously, accepting her hand and letting her pick him up off the ground. “You've never managed to top this fast.” Lincoln, bless his gentle soul, doesn't even hint at the endless possibilities for dirty jokes hidden in that sentence.

 

Lexa shrugs, trying to calm her breathing. She walks to the stand with their water bottles on it, and Lincoln follows, hopping onto the stand and letting his long legs dangle carelessly as he gulps his water down. She does the same. Water never tasted this good. Quite literally; she's still quietly amazed at the taste of, well, anything really, in this world that's both old and new to her.

 

“Seriously,” Lincoln speaks up after they've quenched their initial thirst. “That was something else. You've always been good, but this just now... Your technique is much, much better, and the speed! Lexa,” he tilts his head and looks her in the eye; if it weren't for gentle laughing crinkles around them, he'd look completely serious. “Are you on drugs?”

 

She slaps his shoulder, and he guffaws loudly.

 

“No, but maybe _you_ are. I did just wipe the floor with your ass, after all,” she replies dryly. Lincoln simply chuckles. Thankfully, he seems to drop it. It's not like she has an answer ready for him. Well, she does; the Lexa he trained with before didn't possess the knowledge of Heda; wasn't forged in battle and wars; didn't spend her life training since she'd barely learned to walk. She doubts he'll believe her if she were to tell him everything; he wouldn't brush her off, of course, but he would be worried she hit her head too hard.

 

Lincoln sighs, and she discards her musings, looking at him. “Drugs. Yes. I am on drugs. A drug. _The_ drug.” He sighs again, this time much more dramatically. “It's called love. I highly recommend it.”

 

Lexa ignores his pointed stare. “Gross,” she mumbles, taking a sip of her water. “You've known this girl for two months. Isn't it too early to be talking about love?” She winces internally at her hypocrisy. She's known Clarke for days before falling for her.

 

Lincoln, however, is unaware of her inner struggle. He simply sighs, no doubt thinking about Costia and about the fact that Lexa chose to remain single for years afterwards.

 

“I know, but she's... I met her, and it's like everything made sense suddenly,” he tries to explain. Lexa bites her lip at that. She knows, oh, she knows all too well. “I know it's only been a couple of months, but... I think she might be the one?”

 

Lexa has no idea why she feels the need to shut him down, but she can't stop herself. “The one? Do you still believe in this ridiculous concept?” Yeah, so she might be a little cranky. Clarke has been busy, and so has she, and they haven't seen as much of each other as she's gotten used to. As she would've liked to. It's not healthy, but she can't do anything about it. Tried, failed, moved on and accepted her needy, clingy self.

 

Lincoln sighs. “Lexa...”

 

“I'm sorry.” Her love life is completely screwed up, but it's no excuse for bashing Lincoln's. Besides, she knows Lincoln is right. Octavia most probably _is_ the one for him. She's caught glimpses of them together; if she's being honest with herself, these two gave her hope that one day, Clarke and her... Just because that hope is gone now, doesn't mean Lincoln can't have his second chance. “I'm being insensitive. I'm truly glad for you, Linc. If there's any way to make up for my words...”

 

“Oh, it's your lucky day,” Lincoln's eyes light up, and she curses quietly. “We're going for coffee today; she's bringing her friends and so I thought I could bring mine.”

 

Octavia is bringing her friends. Friends that probably include Clarke. Clarke, whom she hasn't seen for two days. She's bound to do something stupid, she just knows it.

 

But Lincoln is relentless and extremely hard to say no to. “I sense flimsy excuses about to be made, and I'm not gonna buy any of them, Lexa.”

 

She sighs and thinks she liked him better when he was a mere gona, not the boy she grew up with. Besides, Lincoln the gona would have never dared to laugh at her being pushed into the lake, fully clothed, while Anya smirked, dusting her hands off in an exaggerated show of a job well done. Even though the job was pushing Lexa into the lake. Fully clothed. Yes, she may still be holding a grudge on that one. Costia was there to see it, after all. And having to climb out of the lake looking like a drowned rat while your crush stifled giggles behind her hand was much more humiliating than it sounds.

 

But Lincoln the gona also didn't stay up late with her watching tv because she couldn't bear to be alone and Anya was on a trip. Lincoln the gona didn't struggle with countless grocery bags containing ice cream and wine as he grinned at her, his gaze not pitying, but understanding. He didn't haul her body up the stairs, barely managing to stay upright himself, a graduation cap askew on his head, amused giggles and warm goodnight wishes on his lips. Lincoln the gona would have never done any of those things, but this Lincoln did them, and so much more; the least she can do is agree to meet the girl he loves.

 

Besides, he has too much blackmail material on his hands for her to refuse.

 

So she sighs again, long and heavy enough for him to know she's doing it against her will. Her smile, though, is wide and teasing; for him to know that she's not exactly opposed, either.

 

“Fine. But you're paying.”

 

“Oh, come on! You're a media mogul and I'm a simple gym owner, how's that fair?”

 

Lexa snorts at the 'simple gym owner' casually slipping a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist and decides against pointing out that The Grounder Gym is actually a – extremely successful – gym chain, not a small basement with worn mats. “Life's not fair, I guess.”

 

//

 

Life is so, so unfair; but it is becoming rather predictable in its mockery, at least to Lexa. As soon as they walk into a coffee shop, freshly changed and showered with duffle bags over their shoulders, her eyes find the crystal blue of Clarke's smiling gaze. She's always smiling, it seems; Lexa can't remember a time – in this life – when Clarke wasn't smiling. Lexa likes it. She likes the fact itself; the fact that this Clarke gets to smile constantly and frown rarely. But then again, Lexa only ever sees her at work; she has very little idea about her life, amusing stories Clarke shares with her sometimes notwithstanding. 

 

Well. At least Clarke is happy about her job, then.

 

“Linc!” A small body blurs past her, practically smashing into Lincoln; Lexa has to restrain herself from reacting as a gona would. She still gets such urges, sometimes. Sudden movements set her off, still; she's adjusting, and rather successfully, but it's hard to completely erase that part of her. The warrior part. The heda part. 

 

She blinks, and finds Clarke looking at her again from the table near the window; the blonde is no longer smiling, studying her carefully instead, a small, concerned frown on her face. Lexa doesn't know if Clarke saw her tense up and go into fight or flight mode, but she orders herself to relax and attempt to appear a semi normal functioning human and not a war machine. So she smiles, albeit a little awkward, and nods at Clarke before turning her attention to Octavia. The girl is still hugging Lincoln, her head thrown back almost comically as she looks up at him with adoration shining in her eyes. Lexa averts her eyes, feeling like she's intruded on something too delicate, something not meant for her, and Lincoln notices. He untangles himself from his girlfriend's hold, gently, smiling down at the girl before finally proceeding with introductions. 

 

“Lexa,” he says softly. “This is Octavia, my girlfriend.” The girl beams at that, the novelty of the title not worn off yet. “Octavia, this is Lexa, one of my best friends.” 

 

Octavia's eyes widen, just like her smile, and she shakes Lexa's hand enthusiastically. “I've heard so much about you,” she utters the custom greeting. Lexa's sure it's true, though. She only hopes Lincoln has omitted certain parts of their teenage years that she'd rather Clarke's best friends not know. She'd rather anyone not know, really. Sometimes, she goes through memories of Lexa Woods and wonders how is it possible that this girl is her. Knowing that she lacked her spirit brought some comfort, of course. But not much.

 

She smiles back at Octavia. Her handshake isn't as energetic, but it is firm and polite. “Likewise. It's very nice to meet you, Octavia.” She lets go of her hand, but the smile remains.

 

“You can call me O, if you want,” the girl supplies helpfully. “Also, wow. So Lincoln wasn't lying and the photos weren't photoshopped. You're actually Lexa Woods.” She's teasing, of course she is; her best friend works for Lexa, after all. Lexa lets out a chuckle.

 

“Yes. But right now, I'm just Lexa.”

 

Octavia looks like she's about to squeal, but she doesn't. “Cool. Right. Cool.”

 

Both Lexa and Lincoln chuckle at that, and Octavia leads them to the table Clarke's seated at, sipping at her coffee. Lexa's gaze doesn't stray from her eyes; Clarke's doesn't, either.

 

“Hi,” the blonde mouths, smiling. Lexa swallows. Before she has a chance to reply, Lincoln sweeps Clarke up in a bear hug, both laughing.

 

“Clarke! Where've you been? I haven't seen you in ages, man!” he squeezes Clarke's shoulder before they sit down, Lincoln next to Octavia, leaving Lexa no choice but to slide in next to Clarke. “Has Lexa been riding you too hard?”

 

Lexa is grateful she isn't drinking anything because there is very little doubt she would have done a spit take, inevitably staining Lincoln's shirt. And it's a very nice shirt. She's gotten it for him.

 

She schools her features into a neutral expression, willing herself to calm down. It's just a poorly worded phrase, and she can't afford to show too much. So she blinks and waits for Clarke to reply. Except Clarke is silent, as well, and when Lexa glances at her from the corner of her eye, she sees light pink coloring her cheeks and blue eyes widened. Clarke blinks rapidly, then, clearing her throat, and Lexa decides to take pity on her.

 

“Clarke definitely works hard, yes,” she says smoothly. “She is excellent at her job.” She glances at her, again, and sees a bashful smile sent her way. Clarke is not making this easier.

 

Thankfully, both Lincoln and Octavia miss the entire thing, too engrossed in each other. In little things, like holding hands and stealing glances and smiles. Legs and shoulders touching. They are lost in the sensation of simply being near, and Lexa feels her throat constrict as she chances another glance at Clarke. Who is staring at her.

 

The blonde quickly averts her gaze, choosing to look over the menu instead, and Lexa narrows her eyes briefly, but then Lincoln speaks up again. “Didn't doubt that for a second,” he says, giving Clarke a warm smile. “Clarke's the best.”

 

“Alright!” Clarke exclaims. “This is flattering and also uncomfortable. And not why we're here. I'm sure Lexa has some elaborate speech full of vague threats prepared for you, O.” Clarke's sparkling eyes let Lexa know she's teasing.

 

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “I think you have me confused with Anya.”

 

Lincoln nods. “Yes, yes she does. That's Anya, all the way,” he confirms, and Octavia shudders next to him. “Right. Because I wasn't terrified enough of meeting her before,” she remarks sarcastically, and her boyfriend chuckles, soothingly rubbing her arm. Lexa can't help but smile at the gesture. It looks so natural; they are all soft touches and murmured words and easy smiles, so different from sharp edges and high stakes of the previous world. Lincoln's huge, warm palm is holding Octavia's small, delicate hand with confidence and tenderness; it's striking to think that those hands, both his and hers, were stained with death and blood.

 

“Anya is nothing to be terrified of,” she says. “She's simply... protective.” Clarke snorts at that, and Lexa smiles, nudging her shoulder. Clarke replies with a nudge of her own and a playful raise of an eyebrow, making Lexa shake her head and chuckle.

 

They turn their heads to Lincoln and Octavia when they notice a deafening silence, and find the couple looking at them, a silent question in their eyes. But, while Octavia is simply staring at Clarke with incredulity in her gaze and a promise of talking later, Lincoln has something akin to excitement and downright giddiness on his face. Lexa curses to herself.

 

“So, yeah. No threats. If Lincoln is happy, I'm happy,” she says, eager to distract them from the moment Clarke and her shared just now. It seems to work; Lincoln smiles at her gratefully. “And you know what they say; tell me who your friend is, and I'll tell you who you are,” she adds, glancing at Clarke again. _Well, so much for diverting their attention,_ she thinks wryly.

 

Octavia smirks. “Hold that thought till you meet Raven,” she tells her. “Which is very soon. She's invited herself.” The girl glances at Lincoln almost apologetically, but he just shrugs.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Come on. Raven's not that bad. You're making Lexa biased.”

 

“Girl has zero filter, Clarke,” Octavia says. “I'm not making Lexa biased; I'm preparing her. Toughing her up.”

 

Raven. She remembers Raven. The girl who loved Finn. The girl who likes to blow things up. Liked. The one whom Lexa strung up on a pole and through whose flesh she slices over and over again, impassively watching rich crimson blood flow down her tan skin.

 

The one she was ready to kill, for attempting to poison the Commander.

 

Raven, who chose this exact moment to appear next to their table, hair up in a ponytail, her jacket red and her smile wide and mischievous. She lacks her brace and her scars, just like all of them. But there are scars invisible to an eye, and Lexa carries them all. For all of them.

 

Clarke shifts next to her, and she blinks, realizing she's been staring at Raven for longer than is probably deemed appropriately. She clears her throat and stands up, outstretching her hand that the brunette takes in her own, giving it one firm, sharp shake. Raven's eyes, dark and vibrant, search her face quickly. Same eyes that burned with hatred and defiance and pain as Lexa cut into her.

 

“Hello,” she manages to say. “Lexa.”

 

“Raven.” _I know._ “Heard quite a lot about you.” She shakes her head as Lexa glances at Lincoln. “Oh, no, not him; this one.” And she points at Clarke, who widens her eyes at Raven warningly. The girl simply shrugs as she sits down, a smirk firmly in place.

 

“No filter,” Octavia mutters to herself.

 

“What was that, O?” Raven's smirk grows wider.

 

“I said, someone has no filter and _someone_ could really use one,” the girl hisses. Raven only lifts her hands up in defense, laughing; after that, the conversation flows smoothly, with Raven's constant barely-appropriate jokes and everyone half-heartedly trying to reign her in, without much success. Everyone but Lexa. She sits a little further, watching them interact; pieces of her past life. But it's different. It's much different than having Anya and Indra and Clarke together in one building. It isn't Clarke in her life; it's her and Lincoln in Clarke's. With her people.

 

Raven unwittingly brought back every little thing that separates her from Clarke, and she's reminded of all the things she's done; things that make her unworthy of this second chance. Raven bled by her hand, and Raven's love was killed by her command. And many others. So many deaths; yet she's here, sitting in a coffee shop and smiling at jokes told by the girl whom she tried to execute. Whose people she wanted to execute.

 

She stands up, excusing herself; she knows it's abrupt, but she doesn't much care. She feels too hot, and it's hard to breathe; she doesn't even hear what they have to say about her exit as she hurries to the bathroom. Water feels freezing on her cheeks, even though she knows it's probably only mildly cool. The collar feels restricting, despite the first two buttons being undone; she undoes one more, breathing heavily. It doesn't help. It's wrong. It's all wrong, everything; she shouldn't be here. She can't be here.

 

She looks in the mirror and recoils, sharply, when her eyes catch the Commander there, standing tall and proud, in full gear, disappointment and regret mixing in pale green eyes. She blinks, and the image is gone; but when she glances down on her hands, they are dirty and covered in blood that isn't hers; they are trembling, and she doesn't realize she's trembling, too, until there is a hand on her arm, grounding her.

 

Her hands are clean, and her reflection is dressed in a pale blue button up and jeans. Clarke's reflection is looking at her, concern evident in her expression, her touch careful and gentle.

 

Once again, Clarke finds her at her weakest.

 

“Lexa?” She's rubbing her arm now, soothingly; it sends sparks down Lexa's spine. “Can you hear me?” She must've been talking to her for some time.

 

“Yes.” Lexa is rather proud of herself for not stuttering. She takes a deep, steadying breath. “I'm sorry, Clarke.”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” There is quiet fire in Clarke's words. Oh, how wrong she is.

 

Clarke's hand is still on her arm, and she's not taking it off. Lexa doesn't think she wants her to.

 

She just wants her to remember. It's selfish, completely selfish; to wish to inflict this burden on Clarke, but she's tired, and weak; and she just wants her to remember.

 

She doesn't know if she'll be able to stop herself from breaking. Not with the way Clarke is looking at her right now.

 

“Lexa...” She misses her voice. She misses _her_. “I...”

 

“Guys? Everything okay?” Well. At least it's reassuring to know that Octavia, kom Skaikru or not, still has the worst timing ever.

 

Clarke is reluctant to let go of Lexa. Her hand slides torturously slowly down her arm, and Octavia notices; of course. She chooses not to say anything, instead giving Clarke another one of her stares. Lexa shifts on her feet.

 

“Yes,” she finds her voice, calmly looking at Octavia. “Everything is okay.”

 

She catches Clarke's pensive gaze, and her own words ring hollow to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!


	6. Chapter 6

Lexa seriously considers calling in sick the next day. It's the day Gustus is coming back from his vacation. Gustus, her vice president and trusted partner. Gustus, her loyal bodyguard.

 

Gustus, the man she's killed for being too loyal to her. The man who went against Heda to protect Lexa.

 

 _Love is weakness._ Oh, Titus would be so proud.

 

She gets to the office without any trouble, no matter how much she wishes for something to happen so she has an excuse not to show up at all. But no. The cab is quick, the driver is respectfully silent, the coffee is of acceptable temperature, and the walk is short. She's early, so the office is still blissfully empty, except for – of course. Clarke. Standing next to none other than Gustus himself, tall and smiling into his neatly trimmed beard. Clarke is smiling back, shy and sweet.

 

Lexa's heart feels like it'll burst out of her chest any moment.

 

“There she is!” Gustus announces with a booming voice, noticing her first. His smile widens, warm and _alive. He's alive. He's here and alive._

 

Lexa didn't expect herself to take it so hard. So painfully. She remembers driving a sword through his heart. Remembers him telling her to stay strong when he was about to die at her hand. But she also remembers him coaching her on finance matters and pulling an all-nighter helping her figure out how to run a company.

 

Her legs barely listen to her when she approaches the pair, willing herself to smile back. Gustus gestures for her to hurry up so he can engulf her in a giant hug.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Clarke look at her with a pretty frown on her face.

 

“Miss Woods,” Gustus states mockingly, his arms around her. “The company still standing, I see?”

 

“Yeah,” Lexa barely gets out, hands grasping Gustus's jacket to stand steady. “Yeah.”

 

Gustus always could sense when something was off. In both of her lives. “Lexa,” he distances himself, looking at her with concern. “Is everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

 

Lexa wants to laugh. She wants to howl and scream at how unwittingly accurate he is. “I'm okay,” she manages to say. “It's – maybe I'm coming down with something. I don't know.” It's suddenly too hot and too bright and having both Clarke and Gustus standing next to each other and study her is too much for her to handle. “I have to go, I'm sorry.”

 

The bathroom meets her with cold water and cold tiles and _I killed Gustus and he's alive I killed him I-_

 

She doesn't notice how she falls to her knees, trembling. The world around her pulses and fades, and she blinks rapidly, trying to remain calm. Somehow, she knows she's way past that point.

 

She can't do this.

 

Air is gone from the room, completely. It just was there, where did it go? There's no air anymore. Her lungs are burning as she tries to gasp, but she can't. She's suffocating. Gustus. Alive and well. One of her people. But she doesn't have her people anymore. She has a life. Friends. Family.

 

All of those people were ready to give their life for her. Some of them did. And now it's all gone and different and-

 

“Lexa.” the voice is quiet and urgent. “Lexa, look at me, please, Lexa, look at me.” she didn't realize her eyes were closed until the voice began talking to her. It takes a little effort to open them; when she does, Clarke's blue eyes are in front of her, wide and scared.

 

“Hey,” Clarke whispers, brushing her hair away from her forehead. “Look at me. Come on. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat after me. In. Out.” Clarke is breathing with her, slow and careful, and her hand is caressing her cheek as she does so.

 

Lexa breathes with her. The ache in the pit of her stomach uncoils, and she coughs violently as air rushes back in. She realizes they are both on their knees, with her hunched over and with Clarke holding her face with trembling hands.

 

“It's okay,” she hears her state shakily. “You're okay.”

 

Lexa feels like screaming.

 

//

 

“And this is Mike trying to surf,” Gustus laughs as he swipes right on his phone, and Lexa stares at a picture of his twelve year old son about to fall off the board. He looks nothing like Gustus. Skinny and wide-eyed and pale.

 

Her bathroom meltdown ended with Clarke frantically trying to talk her into calling an ambulance and her patiently shooting her down. “At least consider consulting a therapist,” Clarke gave up eventually. Lexa nodded and left it at that.

 

“I'll be fine,” she told Clarke. “Thank you.” She hasn't really seen her since. As soon as she walked out, she headed straight to her office, calling Gustus in to catch up. He's a friend. She has to do what's expected of her. She's been far too careless and weak lately.

 

Clarke caught her far too many times to be acceptable. Lexa Woods the CEO has established herself too firmly in her mind, and it's time Heda Leksa took some space.

 

Currently, Heda Leksa is stoically smiling at countless photos Gustus insists on showing her as part of catching up ritual. Another one, this time with Mike chasing some exotic looking birds. He's a sweet kid, Lexa recalls from her memories. Gustus's kid. He's got another one on the way – she remembers he told her that before the vacation. That's why he took it – to celebrate. He secretly hopes it's a girl. Already has a name for her.

 

This Gustus has an actual family. Wife. Children. He never got to have that in the previous world. His life belonged to her. To Heda. Hell, Lexa's life belonged to Heda.

 

And Heda's life belonged to her people.

 

“Okay, Lexa,” Gustus says suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. “Something's up. What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” she replies calmly, taking a sip of her coffee. It's fast enough that it doesn't look like she's been thinking too much before answering, but it's slow enough so he doesn't think she's trying to cover something up. “I'm a little tired, I admit. We've been working on details with the magazine association. It's been... stressful.”

 

“Of course,” Gustus slaps his forehead, looking like he just remembered something. “The association. Do you need help?”

 

“Always,” Lexa smiles mildly. “I'll have Anya speak to you. She has the details.”

 

“Good, good.” he puts the phone in his pocket, and Lexa hopes he doesn't notice her relieved sigh. She liked their little bonding session, but ten identical looking photos of Mike attempting any physical activity gets tiring after a while. “So. Gala is coming up.”

 

“God,” Lexa groans. “Don't remind me.” She gulps her coffee, as if trying to wash away the unpleasant taste the word brought to her mouth. The annual gala for all things media that she and her vice presidents have to attend. Power play and dirty laundry aired politely and with a smile on plastic faces. She never wants to go there, and she always does. Keeping up the appearances is important. She knows that. Besides, this gala is crucial this year.

 

Gustus chuckles sympathetically. “Yeah,” he nods. “I'm dreading this, too. But it's part of the job. Are you bringing anyone with you? Because I've got-” he cuts himself off when none other than Clarke Griffin chooses to walk into the lounge room where they are currently seated. She blinks, only noticing them when she's halfway to the coffee machine. Gustus is eyeing her with good-natured interest. Lexa is staring at the floor.

 

“Oh, hello,” Clarke says. “I'm sorry, am I interrupting? I didn't mean to – I'll just go.”

 

“Oh, no, it's fine, you're fine,” Gustus springs to his feet, his large form towering over Clarke. Lexa blinks as she watches them; just for a second, she sees Clarke in a leather jacket, face scarred and desperate and blonde hair matted and dirty. And Gustus, wearing a scowl and a longer beard with braids in it, about to drag her away from his Commander. She blinks again.

 

“-but that coffee? Death itself, I'm telling ya,” Gustus is finishing his sentence while Clarke is laughing. “Well,” he says, turning to nod at Lexa and then smiling at Clarke. “I've got a lot of work waiting for me, so I'm gonna go do that. Again, nice to meet you, Clarke. Don't hesitate to ask if you've got any questions, okay?”

 

“Okay. Thank you, Gustus.” That gets Lexa's attention. When the man leaves, she stands up, taking a small step in Clarke's direction.

 

“He told you to call him Gustus?”

 

Clarke whips around, eyes wide. “I – yes,” she scrambles to explain. “I didn't just start calling him that, if that's what you're worrying about. I can stop, though.”

 

“ _Clarke_ ,” she says softly, loving the way Clarke's cheeks flush pink. “I just wanted to tell you it means he likes you. Which is good.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke nods. “It is. I like him, too. I mean,” she straightens up. “He seems like a professional. I'm sure working with him will be an amazing experience.”

 

Lexa quirks an eyebrow at her stiff language. “You already passed the job interview, Miss Griffin,” she says teasingly. “You can trash talk the superiors now. No need to butter us up.” Her smile grows wider when Clarke subtly rolls her eyes.

 

“I don't have any reason to trash talk you. Yet.” Clarke's phrase is light, but she can still feel tension coming from her. It's rolling off her in waves, and when Lexa reaches out to touch her shoulder, she feels her freeze up for one long second.

 

Something is wrong, and Lexa thinks she knows what it is. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. That makes Clarke look up from her coffee mug, and Lexa's breath catches in her throat when their eyes meet.

 

_God, that endless blue._

 

“I'm sorry,” she repeats. “For scaring you earlier. In the bathroom. It won't happen again.”

 

Oh, if looks could kill. Clarke's gaze is sharp and incredulous. “Are you apologizing for having a panic attack?”

 

“Yes.” Lexa shifts on her feet under Clarke's penetrating gaze. “I clearly made you uncomfortable.”

 

“God, Lexa.” Clarke shakes her head, setting the mug on the counter. “I can't – I don't even have words. I'm not uncomfortable, I'm _worried_ about you,” she says. “All I can think about is you going through this... on your own, and that...” she swallows, and Lexa watches her throat bob prettily. “It makes me upset. Concerned. But not uncomfortable. I want to help you, Lexa. I know you're my superior, but I like to think you're also my friend. And I help my friends.”

 

Lexa feels like an idiot, and Clarke's stare isn't helping. “I'm sorry,” she offers again. Clarke sighs.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for. I don't... I don't want to pressure you, or make _you_ uncomfortable, but this has happened not one, not two, but three times already. And those are the times I saw. What about those I didn't?” When Lexa keeps silent, she nods. “I figured as much. Lexa, it's completely up to you, but I really, really wish you'd see a doctor. Your health is important. _You_ are important. To a lot of people.”

 

Lexa wants her to continue. To say _to me_ next. But Clarke doesn't, and Lexa doesn't want to think about it.

 

Instead, she blurts out something that surprises them both. “I'd like you to attend the gala dinner with – um, with us. The company.” When Clarke just blinks at her, she clears her throat and continues. “It's an annual event that our company is invited to. Usually we are represented by top management, but this year, I'd like to include promising employees, and you are one of them.” It's such a magnificent lie Lexa is amazed with herself. But Clarke's eyes light up, and she finds herself smiling with her.

 

“Oh, I – of course, Lexa,” Clarke hurries to say. “Wait – does that mean you will go to a doctor?”

 

Ah. Here she is, Clarke of sky people, Lexa thinks. Never one to back down from a deal. “Yes,” she says. “I will. I realize I'm putting other people at risk by ignoring my mental health. It can't go on like this.”

 

She doesn't think Clarke realizes her gaze softens. “Lexa,” she says quietly. “You're putting _yourself_ at risk, first and foremost. It's about you. Okay? You need to take care of yourself. For you.”

 

Clarke's hand on her arm is nothing but friendly and supportive, but it still burns, and the ache in the pit of her stomach is hot and pleasant. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”

 

She just agreed to visit a therapist and invited Clarke as her plus one.

 

What a productive day.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been way too long. the rating is now changed because as i've mentioned before, writing smut is emotionally taxing for me, and i've been writing a lot of it lately. and i just really wanted to finally update this fic, but i'm too exhausted for smut. until i'm ready to produce more of it, the rating will remain a "T". i'm sorry. 
> 
> hopefully you'll like this one.

This is the worst decision she’s ever made.

 

This is the best decision she’s ever made.

 

Ironically enough, Lexa can’t decide between two, so she simply settles on gaping at Clarke as discreetly as she can. Because - God, this girl never ceases to make her speechless.

 

Sky Princess, Lexa’s people, her own people have jeered at her - but to Lexa, she’s a goddamn queen. And - okay. It never really mattered what she wore or what she looked like. She thought Clarke was breathtaking after spending three months out in the wilderness with definite shortage of showers and, apparently, any water at all.

 

But right now, seeing Clarke carefully enter the room in a royal-blue gown, golden hair streaming down over her shoulder - right now, she thinks she wants to drop to her knees and swear fealty to her all over again.

 

She’s beautiful. That’s all Lexa’s brain appears to be capable of formulating as stunned green eyes travel over the pale skin of her naked shoulders, down to the well-accentuated cleavage she shamefully, quickly skims over. Her dress has a bit of a corset to it, and the skirt flows freely, elegantly down to the floor. All Lexa can think about is how pretty it would look flaring out when she twirled on a dance floor. And then she thinks of hands on Clarke’s waist, holding her firm and steady. Her hands on Clarke’s waist-

 

She blinks and fights against the urge to turn around and flee when Clarke notices her stare. Forces herself to stay put and give an answering smile to Clarke’s tentative one, encouraging the girl to start walking to her. Lexa’s feet move of their own accord, then, and she meets her halfway, both of them looking at each other and clearly thinking of what to say.

 

“Hi,” Lexa says when the silence stretches on for too long to be comfortable.

 

Clarke swallows, and - is that panic she sees in bright blue eyes as they quickly glance up and down? Why would Clarke panic? “I - hi. Hello. You look - good. Great.”

 

Oh.

 

Lexa takes in the lovely pink dusted across Clarke’s cheeks, and - _oh_. “You look incredible,” she says honestly, and, as Clarke’s blush deepens, she feels a little bit of confidence seep in. “It brings out the blue in your eyes,” she gestures to the dress, voice dropping lower than originally intended. Said eyes widen at that, and Lexa feels her heart skip a beat before starting again, stronger and faster than before. It scares her, and she swallows, nervously adjusting her tie. “Did you, um, - did you get here okay?”

 

 _Lame_.

 

She sips at her scotch and inwardly curses at herself. When did it get this awkward?

 

But Clarke seems to get over whatever was making her blush earlier. “Yes,” she replies, her voice back to its normal raspy quality. “Octavia dropped me off. She said hi, by the way.” Her brows furrow, briefly, and Lexa gets the feeling that wasn’t the only thing Octavia has said. But, judging by Clarke’s frown, she doesn’t want to bring it up, and Lexa’s not in a position to ask.

 

“Oh. Good.” she takes another sip, sliding her free hand in a pocket because she suddenly seems to have forgotten what to do with it. At least her other hand is busy, she thinks as she glances at her glass, and then it clicks. “Oh - may I get you a drink?”

 

Blue eyes soften. “Lexa, you don’t have to. I’m sure there’s a million other things you should be doing at this party.” And usually, that would be the correct assessment. She’d be off shaking hands and making important connections for the sake of her enterprise.

 

Except she’s done choosing everyone but Clarke. She smiles. “Do you like wine?”

 

//

 

Turns out Clarke doesn’t like wine.

 

She watches, fascinated, as Clarke takes another measured sip from her scotch. She takes it neat. Just like Lexa. At first, she wasn’t sure if Clarke was simply trying to butter her up by asking for her favorite drink, but her doubts were cleared right away when Clarke demonstrated exceptional knowledge and taste for it.

 

She also remembers her boldly chugging alcohol from a clear bottle in a desperate attempt to prove her point. Back then, even taking the whole literal life or death Raven situation into consideration, that didn’t look like Clarke’s first time. Perhaps, she shouldn’t be this surprised, after all.

 

She’s asked Clarke if she wanted to check out the view from the balcony, and that’s where they currently are, enjoying their drinks and looking out into the night. She can see Clarke’s curious, hesitant gaze on her. She knows this whole situation must be confusing for her, because here she is, with her superior, getting drunk on expensive scotch in what could arguably be considered one of the most romantic scenarios there is. On a balcony with a view of the entire city and stars above them shining bright and clear.

 

What is she doing? This Clarke - she can’t do anything but be friends with this Clarke. Because of policies and ethics, both professional and personal, and because… She’s - she’s not _her_.

 

Her past doesn’t define her, but it does make her. Strengthens her, Lexa hopes; forges her into a person she is now. But that’s the thing. She doesn’t remember her past.

 

She looks into these eyes, beautiful, bright blue missing the anguish of decisions that cost people their lives, and she knows that this isn’t her Clarke. Her Clarke is battered and bruised. Forever haunted by things she’s done, and by things Lexa’s made her do. She’s broken, and her love carries shared pain, brings weight of mistakes and conscious choices they had to make, together and separate.

 

This Clarke would be so easy to love, but Lexa isn’t. Lexa’s everything _her_ Clarke is, and she wants that. She doesn’t want it painless, because without that pain, she’s afraid there is no substance.

 

And so, perhaps, it’s time she calls this Clarke a cab and heads home, herself. It’s not too late to put the right distance between them. With that decided, she politely waits for Clarke to finish telling her about how she got into art so she can suggest they go back inside. She gets that chance sooner than later when Clarke pauses mid-word, grabbing onto the rail as she sways.

 

Lexa’s at her side in an instant, one arm around her waist and another under her elbow. “Clarke?” She was fine a second ago. Could it be scotch finally catching up with her? “Are you okay?”

 

Blue eyes blink at her, confused. “I - yes.” She tries to take a step, but stumbles, right into Lexa’s arms. “My head’s spinning,” she breathes out, rubbing at her temples. “That drink is stronger than I thought. Whoa.”

 

She sways again, and Lexa’s concern slowly turns into panic. “Clarke,” she tries, still holding her. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

 

That gets her a vehement shake of her head. “No, I’m fine, I mean - I’m not in any pain. Just dizzy.” She watches her blow out a sigh. “Really dizzy. Could you get me -- oh _God_!”

 

“Clarke?” Lexa tries to keep her voice down, but with her panic steadily rising to dangerous levels, it proves to be futile. She squeezes her hands around Clarke’s shoulders, ready to shake her when the girl lets out a shocked gasp and clings to her arms, closing her eyes. “Clarke!”

 

Blue eyes fly open after what seems like an eternity, but was probably not more than a second, and Lexa suddenly can’t breathe. It’s like she’s hit square in the stomach. She’s frozen, rooted to the spot, mind blank because she doesn’t know how, but she _knows_. Instantly.

 

Clarke. It’s Clarke. She remembers.

 

“...Lexa?”

 

She wants to cry. Wants to kneel before Clarke and press her face into her stomach and cry her heart out at finally having her back.

 

It’s with a trembling hand that she reaches up and tucks a golden lock behind her ear. “Hey,” she whispers shakily, smiling through tears that start falling when Clarke’s hand flies up to keep hers on her cheek, fingers tracing her knuckles. “ _Klark. Hei._ ”

 

“Lexa, where are we?” Blue eyes are astonished as they greedily roam over her face, and there’s so much _pain_ in them it hurts. It’s supposed to. Clarke’s gaze is suddenly _years_ older, and Lexa breathes a sigh of relief. Inside her chest, something shifts and finally clicks into place. “Is that - City of Light, again?” She watches Clarke look around quickly before focusing back on her face, and there are tears streaming down her cheeks, too. “Are you - are you _real_? Is that really you?”

 

“You remember,” Lexa breathes, and there are fresh tears springing to Clarke’s eyes when she finally, finally moves to throw her arms around her neck and press close, forehead resting against hers.

 

“I’d never forget you,” a hot whisper brushes over lips right before Clarke surges forward. And Lexa’s too far gone to be embarrassed about a pitiful whimper that escapes her when she crumbles into the kiss.

 

It’s bitter with their loss and salty with their tears and so, so impossibly sweet with their love and Lexa wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“You remember,” she mumbles against Clarke’s lips, diving right back in again and again and again. “You remember. You’re here. You’re really here.”

 

It’s long seconds before they finally pull away, still holding each other, breathing shallow. “ _Lexa,_ ” Clarke practically chokes out. “It’s you.” She half-laughs, half-sobs, and Lexa’s arms tighten around her waist when she feels her whole body shake with it. “Is this heaven?”

 

Lexa laughs through her tears. “Close. New York.”

 

Clarke blinks at her. “The old world?” Her eyes are wide, still stunned. “How - wait.” She pulls away just enough to look Lexa up and down, wetting her lips, and Lexa watches her eyes widen even more with realization. “Reincarnation,” she whispers. “It’s true.” Lexa nods when her eyes lock with hers. “But - you said New York, and that was before the bombs. Why did we go back? Or was it rebuilt?”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “The year is 2016. I’m not sure, however, that we went back. I think we went… to the left. Or to the right.” She smiles at Clarke’s confused frown. “Spirits aren’t limited to up and down,” she tries to explain. “They choose freely out of infinite possible realms.”

 

“Parallel universes,” Clarke whispers. “I thought - we were taught it was a myth.”

 

Lexa smiles. She can feel the sadness in it; knows Clarke can see it, too. “We were taught a lot of things that proved to be wrong in the end,” she whispers back, gently squeezing Clarke’s fingers.

 

_With you, I am not weak. I am strong._

 

Clarke understands. Clarke always does. “New York, City of Light, 2016, 3016 - I don’t care,” she murmurs, eyes searching Lexa’s face. “I’m with you. That’s all I ever… Lexa, you’re all I ever wanted,” she sobs, and her lips are Lexa’s to taste, salty and soft.

 

//

 

Lexa figures it’s not long before Clarke gets her memories of this world, and she’s right. In the middle of their second kiss that is venturing into pleasant, but dangerous territory, Clarke lets out a sharp cry and almost hits the ground before Lexa catches her and gently eases her down, holding her up. She watches, helpless but hopeful, as Clarke clutches her head and writhes in pain.

 

And then, after another long, tortuous moment, Clarke opens her eyes and meets Lexa’s, an awed expression on her face.

 

“Whoa,” she breathes out. “I’m - I think I’m kind of a bitch. Or - was.” She blinks more before chuckling. “I have a huge crush on you,” she informs Lexa, and Lexa feels her face heat up. “Is it weird to be jealous of myself?”

 

Lexa clears her throat as she helps Clarke stand up. “You don’t have any reason to be,” she informs her. “I haven’t - we aren’t… anything. Her and I.”

 

She watches Clarke’s lips stretch in a soft smile. “You’re friends,” she says gently. Then, her nose scrunches up in concentration, and Lexa suppresses the urge to kiss it. “Well. I may or may not have touched myself thinking of you.” Her eyes widen together with Lexa’s. “I mean, this me! Not - not the previous world me. Her. I meant her.”

 

“I understand.” The night air is suddenly stifling, hot, and Lexa hurries to change the subject. “So did you get all of your memories back?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes out, some of the pink fading from her face. She still looks amazed as she, no doubt, searches through her new memories. Lexa remembers doing the same. It can be a fascinating process. “Two sets. Right here,” she taps her temple. “I - this is crazy.”

 

“I know.” Lexa grows silent, studying her for a moment. “Are you okay?”

 

Clarke smiles, and it’s a weak one. “As okay as I can be, I guess,” she sighs. “It’s a lot to take in.”

 

Lexa nods. She remembers being overwhelmed. At least she was lucky enough to have it happen at night, in the quiet comfort of her bed and not at a very public event. “You need time to process,” she suggests gently. “I’ll call you a cab.”

 

“Wait, Lexa-” She glances down where a pale hand is grabbing her arm, and when her eyes look up to find Clarke’s, she knows she’s remembering it too.

 

_“Go! I’ll hold them off!”_

 

_“Lexa! I love you!”_

 

_“I’ll always be with you.”_

 

She wanted to lean in and give Clarke her last kiss, but she also wanted her to be able to live her life without her. Without all the could’ve beens, without the bittersweet memory of a painful confession keeping her up at night, because God knows she already had enough to do just that. So she hasn’t done anything. Hasn’t said the three words that would have ruined her far beyond repair.

 

But now, blue eyes are wide and hopeful and there’s nothing but calm sky and quiet night surrounding them, and so she steps closer, her hand curling around a trembling arm. “I promised,” she whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Clarke’s voice is small, almost child-like. “You promise?” she repeats shakily.

 

“I promise.” _As long as you’ll have me, I’m never letting you go._

 

It’s all a bit of a blur afterwards: getting into a cab, clinging to each other’s hands and staring into each other’s eyes, murmuring words of reassurance and longing in each other’s hair. Lexa doesn’t remember what bill she threw to the driver when they finally arrived and climbed out, and she doesn’t care.

 

They don’t let go of each other when they walk inside the building and ride up on an elevator, and getting into her apartment is quick and isn’t worth remembering. The only thing she wants to remember is this, right now. Clarke pressed close to her as they hold each other in the middle of her dark living room. Breathing her in and feeling her body in her arms, solid and warm.

 

“Do you want to talk?” She asks tentatively after Clarke’s shoulders stop shaking with silent sobs. Clarke doesn’t reply right away.

 

Lexa’s rubbing soothing circles on her back when she finally speaks up. “No,” she whispers. “I just want you.” It’s physically painful to have her pull away, but she forces herself to let Clarke take a step back so she can look in her eyes. “I have you all to myself,” Clarke says in an awed whisper. “I don’t have to share you with the whole world.” A thumb smoothes over her cheekbone, and Lexa leans into her palm, pressing a small kiss to the wrist with all the tenderness she could muster. Clarke’s watery smile is blinding.

  
“You have me,” she tells her, wiping her fresh tears away. “All of me.”

 

They never go to sleep that night. The darkness is Clarke’s gentle, greedy hands setting her body on fire that burns bright and steady. It’s Clarke’s hot, insistent lips pressed to her cheeks, jaw, neck, mapping out her skin anywhere she can reach. It’s Clarke’s soft, tearful whispers, breaking Lexa’s heart and mending it all at once.

 

Clarke’s dress is surprisingly easy to get rid of. Lexa’s shirt buttons are a pain before she growls and tears at it, sending them flying across the room. She doesn’t care. She has other shirts.

 

It’s so familiar yet so incredibly different from their first time. Back then, Lexa was so sure she’d never see Clarke again. Not like this: open and trusting and warm, body arching into her hands and lips. Back then, it was a goodbye.

 

Tonight, it’s the beginning.

 

“No,” Clarke pushes her, gently but firmly, when she tries to roll her on her back and cover her neck in kisses. She’s confused, but Clarke’s insistent, and it’s not like she’ll ever deny her, so she allows her to push her onto her back. When she hovers above her, blonde hair falling over her like curtains, she thinks she doesn’t mind at all. “I want to love you tonight,” Clarke quietly confesses, searching her eyes, and Lexa’s breath gets stuck in her throat at hearing her say that hard-earned word. “If you’ll let me.”

 

Lexa’s answer is a slow, soft kiss.

 

Clarke clings to her as they lay there, long after that, with sun slowly rising over them, and her breathing is shallow.

 

“I’m here,” she tries to soothe her, fingers dancing across the cooling skin of her back.   


Clarke’s hand ventures down to her stomach. She rests there, heavy, uncertain, before finding the exact spot where the bullet tore her away from her, and then she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> visit [my tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com) to find out how to support me and my works and just to chat i'm always up for a chat really


	8. Chapter 8

“Lexa.” 

 

She doesn’t move. 

 

“Lex.” A giggle. A soft peck, right behind her ear, making her stir. “ _ Lex… _ ” Another kiss, dropped closer to her cheek, and fingers tracing her jawline. Tickles. “It’s time to get up.” 

 

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbles, rolling over and burrowing into the soft warmth. It’s too comfy here, under the blanket. WIth Clarke. 

 

(What if she gets up and none of this is real?)

 

Another giggle that grows into husky laughter. “Okay. This is  _ too _ cute. I now regret leaving my phone in my purse. Lexa?” 

 

Well, she already moved and said her first words of the day, so might as well continue to communicate. “...mmm?” However poorly.

 

“As much as I love having your face all squished up in my boobs, it’s already eight and you’re going to be very late to your meeting if you don’t get up now.” 

 

That finally gets her to open her eyes and come face to face with a smiling Clarke. Smiling, beautiful, radiant Clarke. Who’s also very naked and apparently a little insane. “A meeting?” She asks, incredulous. “I just got you back, and you think I’m gonna waste my time on  _ meetings? _ ”

 

Clarke shrugs. “Well, you’re wasting it on sleep, so…” 

 

“Yes, but it’s sleeping with you,” Lexa says. “I mean -- laying in one bed with you. Having -- having you near. Not just…” 

 

“Lex. Breathe, baby.” Clarke looks like she wants to say something else, but she trails off, cheeks growing pink as her eyes lock with adoring green. “...What?” 

 

“Oh,” chestnut locks scatter across the pillow even more as Lexa shakes her head. “It’s nothing, I just -- you called me Lex. And ‘baby’. That’s… strange, but not in a bad sense, it’s just that I would’ve never imagined you saying that.” She almost says ‘in the old world’, but she catches it just in time. For some reason, she doesn’t want to bring it up. Not yet. She wants to be selfish, just for a little while. 

 

And Clarke gets it; and the corners of her eyes wrinkle when she gives Lexa a soft smile. “Well,” she whispers, tangling her fingers in Lexa’s mane. “Get used to it.”

 

Then, she kisses her. Her lips are warm, and gentle, and they taste like sun. Lexa readily loses herself in it. In her. 

 

“Baby,” she whispers when they finally, unhurriedly separate, and drinks in the sight of pink dusted across Clarke’s cheeks. Her shy smile. Her sparkling eyes and tousled blonde hair. “I like the sound of that.” 

 

//

 

“This is incredible,” Clarke says around a mouthful of hot dog. There’s some mustard smeared on her chin, right above the small cleft, and her blue eyes are alight with wonder. 

 

Out of all things to be amazed about in New York, Clarke picks food. Lexa’s never been more in love with her than in this moment. 

 

“It is,” she says, watching her. “It really is.” 

 

“You’re so cheesy,” Clarke lets her know, and laughs when Lexa kisses the mustard off her chin. “I didn’t think you’d be this cheesy.” 

 

“Really? What did you think I’d be like?” They take a turn, just because they can, and walk without any purpose at all. But Lexa can never fully shut her brain off - years of being Heda and CEo, years of being trained for leadership, strategy, for being always alert - and so a route forms in her head before she can even think about it. Several blocks away, there’s an ice cream stand she likes; and another block after that there’s a park, small but charming. Perfect for indulging in some guilty, dairy pleasure. 

 

“I didn’t,” Clarke states. She’s almost finished with her hot dog. Lexa didn’t really feel like getting one, but Clarke let her have a bite before devouring the whole thing. “I mean - I already know what you’re like. You’re…” There’s a small, knowing smile on her lips as she looks to the side before glancing at Lexa. “You’re you.” 

 

“And I’m the cheesy one.” 

 

“Oh come on, I’m trying to be romantic here.” 

 

“Sure,” Lexa says, and wipes another smear of mustard off Clarke’s face. This one is on her beauty mark, and she kisses it after she gets rid of the sauce. Clarke beams at her. 

 

They haven’t talked about the old world yet. This is the first time one of them brings something up - something from the past, and, no matter how beautiful that moment has been, things that happened after are not what Lexa wants to talk about today. She knows they’ll have to confront it, sooner or later. Everything that’s happened between them, and everything that’s happened with Clarke after she was gone, and how Clarke ended up here with her. 

 

If she had to guess, she’d say Clarke died, too. It makes sense. Lexa Woods of this world got struck with her spirit when it was finally free. It’s very likely that this is the case with Clarke, too. 

 

And if it is, that’s  _ definitely _ not something she wants to talk about today. 

 

Instead, she concentrates on watching Clarke practically whipping her head back and forth as she takes everything in. “These buildings are so tall,” she comments, easily grasping Lexa’s hand now that she’s done with eating, and entwining their fingers. “Almost as tall as your tower.” 

 

“The old one or the current one?” Lexa tries to keep her voice light, teasing. 

 

Clarke rolls her eyes at her smirk. “Both. You just have to be the top dog in every world, don’t you?” A quick kiss she gives her is unexpected, but Lexa still welcomes it, smiling long after Clarke’s lips are gone. “You’re lucky I find it hot.” 

 

“You think I’m hot?” 

 

Another eye roll, accompanied by a soft smile. “Dork.” It’s like they can pretend, for a while, that they are nothing more than Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin. Lexa was afraid it’d feel wrong, but -- in a way, it feels liberating. And, as far as everyone’s concerned, that’s exactly what they are. 

 

“And yes,” Clarke continues, giving her another kiss, this time a little slower. The kind of kiss that promises to cross certain boundaries of what’s appropriate and what isn’t in public. “I definitely think you’re hot,” she whispers to her when she pulls away, just before it threatens to grow heavier. “All versions of me do.” 

 

Lexa’s still trying to remember how to form coherent sentences. “...Versions?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” she watches blonde tresses bounce as Clarke nods. “This Clarke - I mean, the previous me -- fuck, this is confusing.” Lexa’s still staring at her, and she lets out a little laugh before continuing. “I mean, even before I got my memories back, I had this  _ enormous  _ crush on you. It was a disaster. I couldn’t concentrate on anything when you walked past me.” 

 

“...What?” 

 

“Oh, Lexa,” she scoffs, tugging on her arm so they are walking again. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” 

 

“I -- well, I’ve noticed a certain attraction, but... “ She’s completely dumbfounded. Clarke, having a crush on her - the thought is still somewhat unfathomable, and yes, she’s aware of how ridiculous she sounds. Especially after last night. After she had Clarke for hours, and she whispered her love for her, over and over. 

 

The love they have is deep and true, of course, and she does not doubt it. But -- she always viewed it as something, dare she say, epic: something that calls for grand gestures and sacrifices. Because of the world they lived in, because of who they were, she never pictured small things, so sure that they’d never get to have them. Like Clarke being distracted by her. Wanting to hold hands with her. Thinking of her when a cheesy love song is on the radio and scrolling through her photos - and yes, it might be her modern self talking, but the concept is the same. Those are cute, silly things. Crush-y things. 

 

She tried to stop a war for this girl, and yet, she can’t picture her drawing hearts next to her name in a notebook. 

 

“A certain  _ attraction _ ?” Clarke snorts next to her, blue eyes twinkling. “Guess I’m better at hiding my feelings than I thought. But - really? You never noticed the way I looked at you?” 

 

“Well,” Lexa says, still trying to comprehend the mess in her head. “I thought it was mostly physical.” 

 

“Trust me, that, too. Do you know I almost  _ fainted _ when I walked in for my job interview?” When Lexa shakes her head no, astonished, Clarke laughs and nods. Her hand squeezes Lexa’s, and she squeezes back, automatically, caressing her knuckles with her thumb. “You looked like you just left the runway. And then you did the jaw thing and I was ready to jump you right there.” 

 

“The jaw thing?” 

 

Clarke’s cheeks are slightly pink again. “Yeah, it’s, um… When you get agitated, or nervous, I guess, you -- you clench your jaw and looks even  _ sharper _ and… it’s -- it’s really sexy,” she quietly finishes. 

 

“If I could do it on purpose, I totally would.” Before Clarke can say anything, she spots the ice cream stand. “We’re almost there. Come on. You’re going to love this.” 

 

She watches blue eyes widen as they approach the corner. “I already know this is going to be delicious.” 

 

“You’re not wrong,” she laughs, before letting go of her hand to dig up some money from her pocket. A girl who sells the ice cream has her back turned to them as she sorts through sauces, but she quickly turns when Lexa says  _ hello _ . There’s a flash of recognition on her face before she beams at Lexa. 

 

“Oh, hey! You’re back!” 

 

Lexa politely smiles back. “Hi. I’m surprised you remember me.” She used to frequent this stand when she first got her memories back, but she hasn’t come by in a month. Maybe even more. The girl clearly has a good memory. 

 

“You’re kind of hard to forget,” she lets her know before shyly glancing at her feet and tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s obvious that the remark required some considerable effort from her. She seems shy and sweet and soft, and Lexa tries not to wince. She feels bad, all of a sudden. 

 

“Thank you,” she says, because she doesn’t really know how she’s supposed to react. “Um, we’ll have two double cones with chocolate and strawberry, please.” 

 

“The usual,” the girl smiles at her quickly before getting to work. 

 

“ _ So, _ ” she turns to look at Clarke who’s raising an eyebrow at her. “Come here often?” 

 

She blinks when Clarke reaches out and takes her hand back in hers, lacing their fingers. “Used to, yes. It’s really tasty.” 

 

“Cool,” Clarke says, and there’s something new to the twinkling in her eyes, but Lexa doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it. 

 

“Here you go. Two double cones, chocolate and strawberry.” 

 

“Thank you,” Lexa tells the girl, paying for her order while Clarke takes the ice cream. 

 

“My pleasure.” The girl’s cheeks grow pink, and she clears her throat as she puts money away. “Uh, have a nice day.” 

 

“You, too,” Lexa nods before helping Clarke with their treats and walking away with her, hand in hand. Well. That was somewhat of an awkward encounter. She turns to Clarke to ask if she likes her cone, but Clarke’s not eating it. She’s staring straight ahead, and her lips are pursued. 

 

“Clarke?” When she doesn’t answer right away, Lexa slows them down. “Is everything okay?”  

 

There’s a small frown on her face when she glances at Lexa, and her stomach grows heavy with worry. Clarke chews on her lower lip, clearly contemplating something, before letting out a sigh. “It’s nothing.” 

 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me,” Lexa tries, gently. God, it was going so great. She almost dared to think that they were happy, but now -- did Clarke remember something? Something from their past that she didn’t want to share with Lexa; something that will forever haunt them and their hearts, never quite letting them beat for  _ each other. _

 

_ Maunon. Clarke’s people. An endless abyss between their worlds.  _

 

Clarke sighs again, and this time, Lexa can easily pick up on a hint of irritation. “I guess...” she starts, as slow as her smile, “I guess I didn’t expect to get this jealous.” 

 

Lexa quite literally chokes on air. “I --  _ what _ ?” 

 

She’s  _ jealous? _

 

“What?” Blue eyes are twinkling again. “ _ My pleasure? You’re hard to forget? _ I just…” her smile fades a little bit. “I didn’t like the way that girl looked at you and now I’m annoyed with myself. I know I sound so stupid right now.” 

 

Lexa’s having a hard time comprehending it all, but she jumps in to reply. “It’s not stupid. I’m sorry I didn’t stop her.” 

 

“Well, she wasn’t  _ really _ doing anything,” Clarke reasons. “It was harmless flirting, and you didn’t flirt back. But -- ugh,” she grunts, an annoyed expression on her face. “She was nice and my first instinct was to tear her hair out. Second was to jump you in front of her. God, Woods,” she huffs, teasingly. “What have you done to me?” 

 

“Me?” Lexa grins, relief coursing through her veins now that she’s learned the reason for Clarke’s sudden foul mood. “What did I do?” 

 

“I was never the jealous type before you, you know,” Clarke says, pointing her cone at her. It’s started to melt, and so Lexa leans in and licks at the droplet, making Clarke widen her eyes. “Great. I should find this gross. But all I wanna do is hump you against that tree.” 

 

“There are children present,” Lexa informs her. Her grin has grown so big it almost hurts her cheeks. She feels -- free. She feels free and young, suddenly. And so, so light. 

 

Clarke was just jealous. She squeezes her hand, and watches her finally start to eat her ice cream. Watches her eyes widen before briefly closing in obvious pleasure. “You don’t have any reason to feel jealous,” she tells her, and Clarke looks at her. “Absolutely none. I want you to know that. And if - when - you do, I want you to tell me.” 

 

Clarke squints. “Why?” 

 

“So I can do this,” she simply replies, leaning in and capturing Clarke’s lips with her own before she can react. She tastes like strawberries, and she deepens the kiss just a little, teasing the roof of Clarke’s mouth with her tongue and swallowing her quiet moan. 

 

She can’t even find it in herself to be ashamed with how smug she feels when it takes Clarke a couple of seconds to focus and speak. “I -- well,” she says, still a little dazed. “Maybe I should be jealous more often.” 

 

“The offer is not limited to jealous moments, Clarke,” Lexa laughs, and Clarke stares at her, awe etched across her features. 

 

“I could listen to this forever,” she tells her quietly. “I never want you to stop laughing.” 

 

“That’s a little impractical,” Lexa whispers back. Their ice cream is melting, fast, and if they don’t do something about it, it’s going to drip all over their hands. She doesn’t care. 

 

She briefly closes her eyes when Clarke steps closer, resting her forehead against hers. They are alone in the sea of people who suddenly cease to exist. “I never want to let you go,” she says, her voice barely a whisper on Lexa’s lips. 

 

“Then don’t.” 

 

// 

 

“Oops,” is the first thing Lexa says when they get back to her apartment. Because the first thing she does is check her phone when Clarke excuses herself to go to the bathroom. And there is a lot of missed calls. Not just a regular CEO a lot. An abnormal amount of ‘a lot’. And she quickly realizes why when she opens a link Anya’s sent her, along with several angry texts. 

 

It’s a magazine website; one Nia owns, no doubt about that. And there’s an article titled  _ ‘GOING OUT WITH A BANG’  _ in black bold letters. Lexa scoffs at it, and her scowl deepens when she scrolls down to a picture under it. It’s from their evening at the gala, and there, she’s captured holding Clarke’s hand as they hurriedly make their way downstairs, their appearance disheveled enough to raise eyebrows and questions the article is attempting to answer in a rather unflattering way. 

 

She sighs and skims through it, shaking her head. _In a position of power,_ _seducing a younger employee, barely a college graduate, taking advantage_ \- of course, she thinks, rolling her eyes. “Great.” 

 

“Everything okay?” 

 

She lifts her gaze from her phone, and it’s a miracle she doesn’t drop it. Clarke’s standing before her, legs toned and bare, wearing her t-shirt that barely reaches her thighs, and the shy smile on her lips makes Lexa’s heart literally skip a bit before it starts to flutter like crazy. “I helped myself to some clothes. I hope you don’t mind.” 

 

“O-of course not,” she says, cursing herself for the stutter.  _ Get a grip, _ she tells herself.  _ This is Clarke. _

 

That’s the problem. Wonderful, beautiful problem. 

 

“So?” Clarke nods at her phone. “What’s up?” 

 

“Oh,” Lexa glances down at it, the article already forgotten. “Just me being your regular Hugh Hefner.” At Clarke’s confused frown, she chuckles. “I think you’re gonna love this.” 

 

Clarke, unsurprisingly, did not. “Talk about hypocrisy,” she grumbles as she reads through the article, comfortably situated in Lexa’s lap on the couch. “Their editor in chief is married to a woman ten years younger than him. And we don’t have that big of an age difference. Three years is nothing.” 

 

“I don’t know, Clarke,” Lexa shakes her head. “I’m obviously the wise one, and you’re so young and pure. You have your whole life ahead of you.” 

 

“Shut up,” Clarke gives her the phone back, along with a teasing kiss, pulling back when Lexa tries to deepen it. “But, let’s be serious. This is -- kinda bad, isn’t it? For you, I mean? Are you in trouble?” 

 

Lexa’s grin becomes muted when she realizes Clarke really is serious. “Only with Anya, maybe,” she chuckles. “Okay. Let’s be serious. Clarke,” she pulls back slightly so she can look her straight in the eye. “Our spirits have transcended realms to be together,  _ ai hodnes. _ I simply can’t take something as trivial as yellow press seriously after everything we’ve been through.” 

 

Clarke’s eyes are shiny and bright. “You used Trigedasleng,” she chokes out. “Say that again.” 

 

“ _ Ai hodnes, _ ” she whispers, tenderly wiping away a tear that slides down Clarke’s cheek. “I love you, Clarke,” she breathes out next. 

 

“ _ Ai hod you in, Leksa, _ ” Clarke says, trying hard not to sob, and then she’s kissing her, sweet urgency making Lexa’s head spin. 

 

She lets her phone fall to the floor as she gently picks Clarke up and carries her to her bed. Tomorrow. They’ll deal with everything tomorrow. 


End file.
